


curse and cure

by OurBlueStorm



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Darksaber, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin is THAT dad, Gen, I needed to watch too many theory videos for this fic, I never watched Clone Wars or Rebels but here we go, Mand'alor (Star Wars), Mandalorian Season 3 what-if, Mando needs a break, More tags to be added, Planet Mandalore (Star Wars), din djarin becomes ruler of mandalore, mand'alor din djarin, minor original characters, no beta we die like Migs Mayfeld in a rhydonium explosion on Morak, no beta we die like kuiil, not much sequels content, oh well, this is slowly turning into a anti bo-katan piece, time skip, wait no i have a better one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurBlueStorm/pseuds/OurBlueStorm
Summary: After the events on Moff Gideon's Imperial Cruiser, Bo-Katan wants to challenge Din Djarin for the darksaber. After she fails, Din goes into self-imposed exile in an attempt to find the next worthy leader of Mandalore.Three years later, he is convinced to come out of hiding and partner with the New Republic to win back his planet. He partners with old and new friends to win back Mandalore from the Empire, and at the same time is still fighting to protect Grogu from the clutches of Moff Gideon.Season 2 Mandalorian Spoilers, a what-if for season 3
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 241
Kudos: 355





	1. The Curse

Din felt that if he put the helmet back on, he might suffocate. His eyes would not leave that spot of paint on the elevator doors where Grogu’s face had disappeared. It was slightly chipped. His knees shook slightly, and his breaths didn’t want to come.

Cara’s hand on his shoulder didn’t feel quite real, and as she and Fennec guided him to the chair he had placed Grogu on not five minutes before, Din noticed with fleeting gratefulness that their eyes were averted from his face. As Cara straightened up and unwrapped his arm from her shoulder (he hadn’t even realized how little effort he had put into walking to the chair), Fennec gently placed the helmet into his lap. The narrow slits seemed to glare up at him. Was that really all Grogu had ever seen of him until today? How had it not terrified the child? It terrified Din, just looking at the stupid thing. It was almost talking to him, just like how he knew the Armorer would be doing if she saw him now – “you’ve abandoned your creed, Din Djarin. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Bo-Katan had started speaking. “…call back Fett. Koska, will you send out that ping?”

“I already did. He should be here any minute,” Koska replied.

Almost on cue, there was a ding and clang as the _Slave I_ docked. A few moments later, Fett strode into the command center, stopping dead in front of Din, who looked up. “You didn’t tell me you were going to give the child to Luke Skywalker.”

Din met the T-shaped gaze of the other Mandalorian. The name rung a bell, but his mind was a bit muddled at the moment. “I didn’t know,” he replied, his voice shaky. He couldn’t tell what Fett’s reaction was, but he didn’t look happy. Huffing slightly, he retreated and stood next to Fennec, murmuring slightly and inquiring after a plan.

Minutes passed in almost silence. Din knew Bo-Katan was stealing glances at him, and it made him angrier if anything.

“Stop it.”

Everyone else in the room stared some more. Bo-Katan snorted loudly. “Why? Is it bugging you?”

There were clanks and light alarms as the X-wing departed, but Din did not look towards the ship as it flew away, but stood up, anger fueling his movements. The helmet slid out of his lap, banging loudly on the floor. Firmly, he strode over to Bo-Katan and drew the darksaber, and she looked back with determination and a little bit of anger herself.

“If you want it, just challenge me. I’ll accept. I don’t want it.”

Cara groaned quietly. “Now’s not the time. You need to rest for a little bit.”

Boba Fett on the other hand, laughed loudly. “Oh, that’s funny,” he said, probably grinning underneath his helmet. “I think you should keep it, actually.”

Bo-Katan shot him a dirty glance but turned her attention back to Din. “Fine.”

Cara groaned again, louder this time. “Come on, guys. I don’t think here and now is the best time.”=

“Here and now is good,” Koska said, her voice hard as she glanced admiringly at her comrade. “The more dead bodies in one place, the better.”

Fennec and Cara both blanched. “Wait, _what_?”

Bo-Katan slid her helmet over her face. “The challenge for the darksaber is a determination of the most physically capable person to rule Mandalore. In a fair fight, neither of us is allowed explosives or pistols, so it’s based on pure strength and training alone. We are allowed to make fatal attacks, but the fight could also end if someone else yields,” she finished, and turned back to Din. “Not that he would know any of that, being raised by a cult,” she spat.

Din spared her a short glance as he, too, shed his pistols and explosives. Tossing his possessions aside, he drew his spear and replaced the darksaber in a spare holster on his back.

“No helmet, then?” Bo-Katan asked, almost tauntingly.

Din openly glared this time. “No.”

“Ugh,” Koska groaned. “That’s just another stupid rule the Children of the Watch came up with to turn people into killing machines. Totally loses the spirit of individuality.”

“Koska,” Bo-Katan chided, not wholeheartedly as she had done the first time someone had discredited Din because of his past.

He didn’t care. He spun his spear lazily as Bo-Katan unsheathed her gauntlet knives, probably made of beskar, which would at best scratch his armor, and worst, slice open his throat. “This is the Way,” she said, and charged.

She swung several times, aiming for his chest, and Din turned the spear vertically to counter each strike. He turned offensive quickly, swinging downward on her, but she blocked with both arms above her head. She aimed a kick to his face, only slightly grazing him as he quickly spun away, and aimed a sharp jab at her head.

She swung out again to his head and he crouched to avoid it. As Din made another jab, she countered and swiped again. He blocked her from all the different angles she tried and attempted to bear down again. Bo-Katan aimed another kick, but he leaned backwards to dodge. They exchanged a few more blows before she tried to dart around him and aim for his back, but he just managed to wedge his spear in between them to counter.

In the scuffle, she managed to get both hands over the top of his grip and push the spear out of his hands. He quickly shifted to accommodate without time to draw a different weapon as she swung more at his head with her knives. Din could tell she was getting increasingly more desperate, but as her desperation rose, so did his anger.

The fight turned from weapons to hands. He managed to disarm her as he backed her up against one of the consoles and wrestled the knives from her hands. She kicked him back, but her helmet had come dislodged, so she threw it off. They exchanged more hands, at which Bo-Katan was more skilled. She managed to push him hard enough that he lost balance and toppled over the top of a console.

Picking up his spear from the floor, Bo-Katan advanced. She aimed endless amounts of jabs at him, and he managed to dodge most as others glanced off his armor. Aiming a kick at her, she twirled away and swept up at him with his own spear. He crashed to the floor as she hit one of the soft spots on his back, and she was not slow to continue aiming jabs as he scrambled to his feet.

She thrust one more time, and he was able to grab the top of the spear to launch himself closer to her, but she tripped out one of his feet and slammed the spear down hard enough that she punctured through the floor, where Din’s unprotected stomach had been moments before. She swung with the spear hard enough to hit Din, and the clang echoed loudly throughout the room.

She jabbed again, with full intent on fatal damage, but he grabbed the spear again and spun underneath it to dislodge it from her grip. He aimed a heavy kick at her chest, and she rolled backward as he thrust back at her.

She spun to avoid his swipe with the back end of the spear, and she bent forward again as he reversed to where her helmeted head had just been. He swung again with the other side of the spear as she straightened up and threw another kick as she fell.

He quickly advanced on her, restraining her arms behind her back. “Do you yield?” He grunted as she struggled.

“No! No! I can’t!” In his anger and emotions, Din had almost completely forgotten what he was fighting for. He had been so overwhelmed by the loss of Grogu and his anger at Bo-Katan that he had forgotten that he had originally intended to lose this fight. As he looked down on her face, he was shocked to not only find tears of desperation running down her face, but tears of frustration and sadness running down his own.

Her body slumped as she pressed her face into the floor, contracting with sobs. Din stepped back, astounded at what he had done. The torrent of thoughts and feelings surrounded him, and he turned away, coming face-to-face with Cara, and she stared back in equal alarm and astonishment.

He cursed quietly and hurried away. Striding down the hallway, he quickly found he was lost. The large ship housed many rooms and cells, many control panels and sliding doors he couldn’t open. He hadn’t even meant to go anywhere, but he lost himself in the endless hallways.

He was so very alone for the first time in months. The loss of Grogu hadn’t just left a missing chunk in his heart, it had pulled out more than what it had filled. At the beginning of his quest, he hadn’t imagined it would hurt this much when he would have to return the child to his own people.

And now, what? Every time he had previously taken off his helmet in privacy, any fresh air had felt like a blessing. Now, it felt like a curse.

And even as the darksaber poked his side in its holster, he felt thrums of dread in his stomach. How on earth could he lead Mandalore with a broken creed?

“You look like you need a break.”

Din jumped as Cara’s voice issued through the empty hallway. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard her coming. She stepped hesitantly towards him, holding his helmet under her arm.

Din turned away again, hoping she wouldn’t notice the wetness on his cheeks. “Maybe I do,” he mumbled.

“Well, Bo-Katan and Koska are taking this cruiser to turn the Moff in to the Republic for his bounty, and Fett has offered to take both of us wherever we want.”

Din let his head thud back against the wall. “And how does Fett feel about becoming a ferry service?”

Cara shrugged. “Dunno, I think he likes you anyway. He was gloating in Kryze’s face after you left.”

Din winced. “I wish he hadn’t.”

“Me and you both.” Cara offered her hand, and he stood. She also offered his helmet, but he pretended not to see it and walked back the way he had come. Soon enough, they found the _Slave_ where Fett had parked it and hurried inside as he started up the ship.

“Where to, boss?” Fett asked once they were inside.

“Don’t call me that,” Din snapped. After a moment’s pause, he said, “Aq Vetina.” Leaning over to the console, he gave Fett the coordinates for the planet it was on.

Cara glanced at him and shared a look with Fennec, then addressed Fett. “Back to Nevarro.”

“Aq Vetina’s closer,” Fett growled after he plunked in the coordinates. “We’ll drop him off first.”

“Fine,” Din grunted as he fell into a seat. As the ship took off, he saw a glance of blue Mandalorian armor through the window. He quickly looked away as the ship left the cruiser and jumped into hyperspace.

Din stared through the front window as the stars flew by like snow.

“What’s on Aq Vetina?” Fennec asked from across the ship, a question to which Din did not reply.

“There’s nothing,” Cara interjected. “Those settlements were wiped out during the Clone Wars. There’s hardly anything left on that planet but raiders.”

Din didn’t answer but continued to look down in his lap where his hands were tangling with each other. His spear was still strapped to his back, and Cara had placed the helmet on the floor where he supposed she knew he would see it. He averted his eyes from it.

Soon enough, the _Slave_ exited hyperspace to look down upon a planet. From the top, it looked dry, with the occasional splotch of green and blue, surrounded by a cloudy atmosphere.

“See?” Cara gestured. “Nothing much.”

Fett flew the ship down to the planet, and almost as soon as it touched the dry, dusty ground, Din opened the doors and was gone.

Around him were broken buildings that showed signs of attempts at reconstruction. There were several people walking around inside the little town itself, a few hundred meters away. Din strode forward and into the city. Once inside, he found a little alleyway and started removing his armor.

“Hey!” Cara’s breathless voice echoed again. He knew she might follow him this time. She looked down around him, where his pauldrons and cuisses were strewn already. “…what are you doing?”

He didn’t look up at her but unlatched his cape. He unbuckled his breastplate, revealing the electronics and clasps underneath. Next off were the greaves, then his vambraces and faulds. He continued until every part of beskar was off of himself, then took off the protective fabric until all he was left in was a tight undershirt, trousers, and boots.

Only then did he look back up at Cara. She was holding his helmet still, staring at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped again. He seemed to be snapping at people a lot today. “Don’t pity me. You were the one who said I needed a break.”

Her mouth closed and her expression hardened. “And how long of a break were you thinking?”

“I have no idea,” he grumbled back. “Until I find someone to give this wretched saber to.” 

“So you’re keeping it with you?”

“I… what?”

“You’re keeping it with you right now.”

“…Yes. I guess so. I’m not going to use it. Ever. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want to… to be Mand’alor, or whatever Bo-Katan wants with this thing. I never wanted to leave the covert, I never wanted to meet a Jedi, I never wanted to meet the kid, I… I didn’t even want to leave here.” He gestured wildly around him, and he saw a flash of understanding on Cara’s face. “I can’t lead Mandalore, not like this. My people will never trust me if I don’t trust myself. I- “

“Then learn to trust yourself,” Cara interrupted. “Because as lousy of a leader as you think you’ll be, remember there are people in the galaxy that believe in you.” She set the helmet down on the ground. “Take some time off. You need it. And when you feel ready to come back – no don’t interrupt me – when you feel ready to come back, know I’ll be ready and waiting for you. And I’ll get the entire Republic behind you to reunite Mandalore, or whatever, if that’s what it takes. Okay? I think you can do this.” She grabbed Din’s shoulders, and he felt and overwhelming gush of gratitude and affection, even if he knew he would never take her up on the offer.

“… Okay.” It was a whisper.

“Good,” she said, letting go of him. “Now, get out of here.”

Din swallowed down the lump in his throat. Reaching down, he reattached his holster to his hip and slid in his blaster. Picking up the darksaber, he didn’t look back at Cara as he strode away into the town underneath the darkening sky. 


	2. The Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A settlement is attacked by a group of raiders, and Jarton Blales runs to get help from a warrior living in the next settlement over. All does not go according to plan, and apparently the warrior goes by "Brown Eyes".

_11 ABY – 2 years later_

Jarton Blales considered himself to be pretty brave. The other boys in his school thought so, at least. But as he sped across the rocky ground towards the nearing settlement, the only thing he felt was fear. He jumped off his father’s speeder bike, stumbled a little, and sprinted into the little town.

Almost running head-first into a little old lady, he looked around frantically. He had no clue who he was supposed to be looking for, but the rumors in his own settlement said that this was the place where _he_ lived, the only one who could help his own town.

“Excuse me,” Jarton panted as he rushed after a little girl in deep red clothes. Now that he looked closer, everyone seemed to be wearing similar shades of red, which should have been obvious, seeing as this settlement was filled with dye harvesters. “Excuse me, do you know where the warrior lives? They said he lives here.”

The little girl just stared at him. Jarton felt his heart rise into his throat. “Please,” he called, turning to the rest of the town. It was morning, and people had started coming out of their houses, almost all of them looking at him curiously. “Help me!”

An older woman hurried up to the little girl, probably her mother, wrapping her arm around her. “What do you want?” she asked, not unkindly.

“Please, my settlement is being attacked by raiders, and there are rumors that there’s a warrior who lives in this settlement, and that he can help us, please, how do I find him?” The words tumbled out of Jarton’s mouth and strung together in his panic.

The woman paused, and then nodded and pulled his wrist, leading him through a few streets and alleys. They ended up towards the outside of the city, right in front of a smaller abode. She rapped on the door heavily, and Jarton was thankful she understood his urgency, then stood aside so Jarton could step forward.

The door opened and Jarton’s mouth hung open a little bit. This man looked like a warrior. He was taller than Jarton, and much older, with a grizzled, battle-worn look, framed with facial hair. His eyes were deep brown, and his hair flopped in front of his face and curled at the nape.

The warrior looked at Jarton, then the woman, then addressed Jarton again. “What’s wrong?” His voice was deep, but soft.

“My town is being attacked by raiders. I-“

“When did they arrive?” The warrior interrupted, quick to action.

“I left to come here almost as soon as they arrived. It took me almost 45 minutes to get here, they might already be gone-“

The warrior turned to the woman. “Collect a few volunteers, get them to bring a large transport shuttle over there.” He turned to Jarton. “You have a speeder bike? Meet me at the outside of the city.” He closed the door, and as Jarton turned away, so did the woman, pulling along her child.

Jarton ran back to his speeder bike, and as he ran through the city, he saw its members emerging from their houses with weapons and supplies, shouting orders and instructions to each other. The message of the attack had spread quickly. He found his speeder bike where he had left it, and straddled it, turning the engine on with fumbling fingers.

As he pulled it away from the city barrier, he heard the roar of another engine. Turning around, he saw the warrior on another speeder bike. He had gotten dressed, wearing the same deep red as most of the other residents, a roomy cape flapping behind him as he slowed to the same speed as Jarton, his elbow-length gloves twisting on the handle, fingers exposed. The only weapons he carried was a blaster, slung into a holster on his hip, and a heavy-looking staff across his back.

“Won’t you need more than a blaster?” Jarton yelled over the roar of the engines.

The warrior just looked back at him, pulling a mask up over the bottom of his face to protect himself from the wind. “They’ll come back if we kill too many. All we need to do is scare them.”

He then nodded to Jarton, gesturing him to lead the way to his own town, and they sped off towards the attack.

After what felt like hours to Jarton, they saw the fortifications around the little town, surrounded by a haze of smoke. It was deadly silent. Jarton hurried forward towards the main entrance, coming around from the side, but the warrior seized his wrist and held him back.

“Look,” he pointed, pulling down the face covering and pointing towards the top of the wall. “There they are. They’d shoot you down before you reached the gates.”

“So, what do we do?” Jarton whispered loudly.

“Is there another entrance that the raiders might not know about?”

“There’s one on the side the other boys take when we want to climb the mountains,” Jarton hissed after a moment’s thought. “I don’t think even the schoolmaster knows about it.”

“Show me,” the warrior said lowly. They moved all the way around the wall until they were met with the sight of what looked like a service door. The warrior tried the handle, which broke off and the door creaked open, and then turned back to Jarton. “Where does this come out?”

“Near the school, in the back of the city. It’s near all the mechanic shops,” Jarton said, his voice trembling.

The warrior nodded. “After me.” He crouched and pushed open the door. They found themselves in a tunnel that slowly sloped upwards and opened up into an alleyway, brightened by the overhead sun. The warrior drew his blaster and held it up as he crept down the alley, his back to the wall.

Past the alley were the mechanic shops, just as Jarton had described, some of them showing signs of recent burning. Around a pile of scrap parts was a group of the raiders. They weren’t human and spoke in a rough gargling dialect.

The warrior straightened up, and Jarton resisted the urge to pull back on his cape to keep him from exposing them, but that had apparently been the plan. The warrior approached the raiders from behind and fired one shot from his blaster into the air.

The raiders all jumped backward in alarm. Without missing a beat, the warrior drew his staff and attacked. There were only a couple raiders, maybe half a dozen at most, and the warrior made quick work of them. He never raised his blaster except to keep one of the raiders from running away, firing a precise shot to his leg, or a missed shot aimed at his head. The staff whipped back and forth between the raiders, knocking them silly or out of breath. Jarton watched in awe as the warrior had each and every raider on the floor groaning for supposed mercy within a minute. He left every one of them alive.

The warrior stood and watched as the raiders scrambled to their feet, sparing him fearful glances and running away, dragging panting and injured comrades. “Come on,” he addressed Jarton. “They’ll be heading off to their leader,” he said as he replaced his pistol, still holding his staff.

“Why didn’t you kill any of them?” Jarton asked as he hurried his pace.

“They’ll only cause more trouble if they want revenge. Best to scare them off from these parts.”

That made sense to Jarton as they strode through the streets after the raiders, buildings burned and looted beyond recognition. Soon enough they found themselves at the front of the city, with dozens of other raiders who seemed to be reacting to the news of the formidable warrior somewhere in the city.

Jarton resisted a grin as he saw the obvious panic of the raiders as they scrambled to their speeder bikes. Injured women and children were huddled together in confusion as they watched the raiders abandon their treasures. Several made the mistake of running to grab boxes of stolen supplies, and one was unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of the warrior and Jarton.

Yelling a warning to his comrades, the raider stumbled back as the warrior advanced, not raising an arm or weapon. The raiders had stilled now, staring at the warrior as they surveyed each other. Then he said something in a language Jarton couldn’t understand but recognized as the raider’s native tongue.

It scared the raiders enough that they commenced their departure with quick haste. The warrior looked on placidly and did not draw his blaster to fire a final shot. He was about to turn back when a battle-cry issued from the top of the wall and someone opened fire on the raiders. One of the speeders exploded in a torrent of flames and the shooter whooped with joy.

The warrior jumped backwards in shock and turned towards the shooter, who jumped down from the top of the wall, assisted by a few stacked boxes. Only about a hundred meters away, the raiders had raised their own weapons and seemed to be issuing battle cries in return before speeding off again. “What are you-“ The warrior stopped in his tracks as he turned towards the man.

Jarton recognized him. He had come to live in their settlement about two years ago, and nearly everyone was suspicious of him. It was obvious that this man was hiding something, and probably went by a fake name. At least, that’s what the adults said. Jarton liked the man. He was fairly funny and was deadly accurate with his blasters. He had taught some of the schoolboys how to shoot when their mothers and fathers wouldn’t have approved. And clearly, the warrior recognized him, too.

The newcomer put his blasters back in his holsters with a grin and turned to the warrior. “Hey there, Brown Eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! I'm super excited to begin this journey with you! This chapter is a wee bit shorter than I would have liked, and I just wanted to get it out of the way so I can write the next one *cue excitement emanating from the faceless author in your computer* Also, this will be one of the ONLY times I write from the perspective of an original character. Generally, they aren't my favorite things to write, but I wanted to get an outside perspective on Din this time around. 
> 
> Please continue leave your comments (i literally live off of them and try to reply to them - I love hearing your thoughts!)


	3. The Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Mayfeld shoo off the raiders together, and Mayfeld asks too many question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO boy. This is a long-ass chapter. 3867 words is longer than both of my published oneshots. Ouch. At least I have an excuse for why it took me so long.
> 
> Other than length, I had a pretty busy week. Hopefully there won't be as many week-long delays between future chapters, but senioritis is not agreeing with my mental immune system. 
> 
> Anyways......... have a chapter.

“Hey there, Brown Eyes.”

Din just stared for a second. “…Mayfeld?”

Mayfeld laughed. “You aren’t telling me you forgot my name already.”

The kid gasped. “I _knew_ it was a fake name!”

Din glared down at him. “Go find your parents, kid.” Din scowled back up at Mayfeld as the kid scampered and Mayfeld’s grin faltered a little. “Why did you shoot the raiders down?” Din glowered.

“They were getting away!” Mayfeld protested. “That would have been stupid, don’t you think?”

“Not as stupid as giving them a reason to come back,” Din snapped. “I told them that I would leave them alive if they never came back to these settlements, and now you’ve gone and blown up a dozen of them.”

Mayfeld’s shoulders sagged a little, and he let out a tiny “oh”. He sighed and ran a hand across his bald head. “So… now what?”

Din resisted the overwhelming urge to punch the man. He stepped back and surveyed the scene. The raiders must know there would be some value in returning, seeing as they left behind most of the boxes. “We wait for them to return.”

“I suppose we’ll have to give them hell then, I suppose. Sorry, anyways,” Mayfeld gestured apologetically. “There are people here that need medical attention, though,” he said, sobering up. “We can-“

“I have volunteers bringing over transport ships right now to bring them back to my settlement,” Din interrupted. He sighed, and his shoulders sagged a little.

Before long, the backup transport arrived with armed volunteers and extra pods to take back the injured to the Aq Vetina settlement. Din loaded up the injured and comforted the little children who couldn’t find their parents, all the while aware of Mayfeld’s stare. 

Din pulled aside the armed volunteers to tell them the plan: “Either they come back tonight, or we go after them tomorrow.” The volunteers dispersed and Din was left with Mayfeld again.

“Always a man of few words, aren’t you, Mando?”

Din scowled. “…don’t call me that.”

“What do I call you then?” Mayfeld protested. “‘Brown Eyes’ brings back _bad_ memories, let me tell you that, and I only called you that ‘cos it was funny, and I felt weird calling you Mando. You know… no helmet.”

Din gave him a withering glance and turned into the city. He briefly heard Mayfeld murmur something that sounded like “…holds grudges like a Wookie, this guy.”

 _I’m not holding a grudge, Mayfeld. I have a job and you blew it up._ Okay, maybe that was a grudge. Din paused himself for a few moments and inhaled. Honestly, what was the use of all that meditating if he didn’t use it?

“Hey… Mando?” Mayfeld was back.

Din pictured his anger flowing out of his body through his exhale. It mostly worked. He opened his eyes and tried to not look intimidating (the kids back in Aq Vetina were sometimes scared of him, so he tried his best most of the time to only scare the adults who deserved it). “Din Djarin,” he said, and held out his hand.

Mayfeld paused. “Okay, then.” They shook. “Wanna get a drink?”

“Fine.” Mayfeld led him to a small tavern where they found most of the other volunteers from Aq Vetina, chatting good-naturedly with the residents. Mayfeld ordered a bottle of some green drink and grabbed two glasses. He poured a fair amount into each and handed one to Din.

Din accepted his drink and sniffed it. “It’s what they export here. Smelk brewing is the main source of income for this settlement.”

“And you?” Din took a sip of the smelk. It was surprisingly salty with a tangy aftertaste. “What have you been doing here?”

Mayfeld hissed in thought and leaned back in his chair. “Well, after I, _ahem_ , died…” Din’s lip quirked a little against his own volition. “I just wanted a place to lay low. I was wandering around the Mid Rim for a while, but I ended up back here in the Outer Rim and ended up liking the people here. They don’t really trust me, but… ah well. You can’t please everyone.”

“Hm,” Din grunted, nursing his drink.

“Well, maybe not me,” Mayfeld continued, ever the talker. “There were big rumors running around over here that there is some kind of warrior in Aq Vetina.” Mayfeld’s eyebrows wiggled. “You’ve been busy, apparently.”

Din paused in thought. “I can’t deny help I can give.”

“Well, that’s a bit hypocritical, ain’t it?” Mayfelt grinned.

Din started. “What did you say?”

“I said, that’s a show of your addiction, ain’t it?” Mayfeld’s eyes narrowed. “What did you think I said?”

“Nothing. I just misheard you.” Din sipped his drink again. “And I don’t have an addiction.”

“Sounds to me like one,” Mayfeld retorted playfully. “I mean, you clearly want to retire, but noooo, you just have to keep going.”

“I didn’t retire,” Din protested. “I took a break.”

“From what? Your life? Your creed? Your _kid_?” Mayfeld spread his hands as if to say _you’ve done this to yourself_. “Sure seems to me like you retired. You’ve taken off your helmet and everything.” Mayfeld blanched after he said that. “That wasn’t my fault, was it? The whole helmet thing?”

Din stared at him for a second, then shook his head _no_. Mayfeld sagged a little in relief, but Din felt like he still owed Mayfeld an explanation. “I took off my helmet because I found someone to take the kid in and train him. I wanted to say goodbye. And I landed myself in a tough spot with some other Mandalorians. I needed some time to myself… to think. And it’s not retirement.”

“Well, it’s only a break if you go back. Will you? Do you even want to?”

Din scoffed. “When did you start talking sense? I think death knocked something loose.”

“Oh, ha ha. Ha. He does have a sense of humor. Aha ha ha,” Mayfeld mocked dryly. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

Din paused again. “I do want to. But it wouldn’t be the same as before.”

Mayfeld’s eyebrows would have shot up to his hairline if he had any hair. “Why? ‘Cos you took your helmet off?”

“Not just that,” Din said. “I _thought_ I would never be able to go back to my own people if I took my helmet off, but I found out a little while ago that… I was wrong. Or lied to, at least. By someone.” Mayfeld made a prompting motion and Din continued with a little sigh. “I met a few other Mandalorians, and none of them seemed to have an issue taking their helmets off. Then one of them realized which tribe I was from and told me it was a cult. That I was raised in a cult and didn’t even realize it,” Din finished bitterly.

Mayfeld blinked stupidly. “Huh. So, what? You would end up going back to the Mandalorians, but not the same tribe you were in?” Mayfeld scoffed and refilled his drink. “Doesn’t sound like an issue to me, especially if it’s a cult.”

Din hummed noncommittedly and sipped his drink. It seemed less salty after a few tries, he guessed, so he refilled as well. He wanted to say, ‘maybe not’, but he wasn’t sure if he believed it quite yet. How did he even know if Bo-Katan hadn’t been lying to him? Her presence had always given him a nervous buzz when they had interacted those few times, as if his brain was trying to tell him something about her. He had tried to justify his pseudo-exile by telling himself that he was waiting for that message to become clear. She shook him, and not in a good way. Seeing her, he couldn’t reconcile what he knew of her with the title she wanted. As someone who was occasionally violent and disrespectful to those she viewed as outsiders, Din couldn’t quite shake the idea that she might not be an ideal leader for a group as diverse as the Mandalorians… But that could also be Din’s perspective. Albeit he didn’t immediately trust her to make good decisions on behalf of an entire planet, but he was sure there must be someone out there who thought she would make a good leader, even if it wasn’t Din. But if not Bo-Katan, who _would_ wield the darksaber the best? As much as Din had told Mayfeld, he did think he would be able to go back to the Mandalorias, but he frankly just didn’t think he would be a good enough leader to have the darksaber at the same time. Secrets like that don’t stay hidden for long. And past that point, there was no reason Bo-Katan couldn’t have told any other Mandalorians she came across that Din currently held the darksaber, but she might also be too embarrassed by her loss to say that he had beaten her in ritual combat, even if she wanted to get back at him somehow.

And honestly, Din reassured himself and his heart squeezed itself painfully at the thought, he had planned on going into hiding after Grogu was rescued by the Jedi anyways. Even if Moff Gideon had been imprisoned by the New Republic, the remnants of the Empire might still be out looking for him. Without the child to protect anymore, Din had the ability to lay low for a while and not draw attention to himself. Yet another reason to find someone else to give the darksaber to… he could be in hiding forever at this rate.

“Wow, you’re bad at that.”

Din’s eyes shot up as Mayfeld started laughing. “…bad at what?”

“I guess wearing a bucket over your head your entire life means you have no idea how to regulate facial expressions,” Mayfeld wheezed. “You brood like a Togruta.”

Din pulled back a scowl and calmed his face. The soreness in his lip suggested he had been worrying it as he thought. Or… “I don’t brood.”

Mayfeld just about fell out of his chair. “And you lie like a Gungan!” He wiped a tear out of his eye, probably for comedic effect.

Din huffed and stood. Mayfeld’s chuckles died out slowly as he left. “Oh, you’re no fun,” he pouted, but let the other leave.

Din returned back to the tunnel he had come into the city through and attempted to rest. He wasn’t really angry at Mayfeld, but the man’s presence was quite honestly draining. So be it if he had been insulted. He still didn’t really think they were alike, whatever Mayfeld had said those two years ago…

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Din’s eyes snapped open as Mayfeld’s running feet met his ears. As Mayfeld reached up to shake up awake, Din had already stood. It had turned dark, already. The sun was usually only out during this time of year for a few hours.

“Are they back?” he asked, picking up and holstering his belongings.

“The watch on the wall saw them gathering a little way away from the settlement,” Mayfeld gasped through heavy breaths. “There haven’t been any shots fired yet.”

Din strode past Mayfeld through the alley in through the town. As he trudged to the front of the city, Mayfeld caught up with him, eyes wide in restrained nerves.

Reaching the front gates, he saw the night watch up on top of the wall, passing around a pair of binoculars pointing off into the distance. The volunteers were gathered around the base, some trying to peer off to where the raiders were, apparently waiting.

“Catch,” one of the men on the wall said and tossed down the binoculars to Din, who caught them and focused in. The raiders were waiting, sentinels, just as the settlement was now, patiently watching the town for signs of movement. They were only a few hundred meters off, the darkness obscuring what normally could have been seen during the day.

Din tossed up the binoculars again and turned to the volunteers. “Someone come with me. Not you,” he said as Mayfeld stepped forward, who pouted and moved back. Mayfeld’s presence might only push the raiders over the edge. He needed someone who could relay a message if something went wrong, not incite more violence. A volunteer from Aq Vetina stepped forward, and Din started the trek to the raider’s encampment. The volunteer hurried alongside him, chin high, swaggering slightly. Din’s nervous buzz warned him that this man might not have been the best choice. Unearned confidence was almost as dangerous as pure recklessness, though sometimes they were the same thing. “Don’t pull anything,” he warned the man, who didn’t respond.

They reached the raiders, and all eyes were upon Din and the volunteer. One stepped forward and spoke in a gargling dialect that Din, thankfully knew.

“ _What do you want?_ ” The raider asked, adjusting his rifle in his hands.

“ _Put down your weapon,_ ” Din said, holding up his hands to show he had already disarmed himself. The raider sneered through his face coverings, and a soft jeer rose from the group behind him, but he put down the rifle anyways. “ _Thank you_ ,” Din said. “ _I want you to leave these settlements in peace, and to not return_.”

The raiders howled with laughter. “ _Give us what we took, and you can have your ‘peace’._ ”

“ _No_.”

The raiders’ laughter died out, and they all bristled dangerously. “ _Then you don’t get your peace,_ ” the head raider growled.

Din pursed his lips and stepped backwards towards the volunteer. He showed no emotion, no weakness that might entail to the raiders he was upset.

“What did they say?” The volunteer asked, bristling in equal measure as the raiders growled.

“They won’t back down.”

The volunteer’s face broke out into a full scowl, and he quickly drew his blaster. “Neither will we.”

Din was distracted and didn’t realize until too late. “No!”, he yelled, lunging for the volunteer as he pointed his blaster at the raiders, but before he got close enough to either protect the man or wrestle the blaster out of his grip, a flash of red light momentarily blinded him, and then he opened his eyes and the volunteer was dead on the dusty ground, smoke curling up from a hole in his chest, quite dead. It was a miracle the blast hadn’t hit Din, too.

Din whirled around to see several dozen blasters trained at him. “ _Wait_ ,” he said, holding up his hands and trying to hold his voice steady and to not shake. “ _Don’t shoot._ ”

The lead raider stepped forward and pressed his blaster point to Din’s chest. “ _Then what? We’ll only leave if you give us back what’s ours_.”

Din stepped back from the blaster. “ _I don’t want this to end in violence_. _Leave these people in peace._ ”

The raiders laughed threateningly. “ _You know our conditions_.”

Din steadied his hands, letting them drop to his side. “ _You have left me no choice, then_.” Ignoring the raiders’ jeers, he turned around and walked back to the settlement. Given all went well, he could bring the volunteer’s body back to Aq Vetina. Praying to whatever deity, the Force, or whatever, that the raiders wouldn’t shoot him in the back, he trudged back to the town, still surrounded by watching men.

Mayfeld’s eyes were round. “Where’s the other guy?”

Din raised an eyebrow, and Mayfeld’s mouth twisted shut, anger crossing his features. “These people,” he muttered to Din, privately so the dismayed occupants and volunteers couldn’t hear as they mourned their dead comrade. “These people can’t keep going on like this. This is the fourth attack this year already. You have to make an example.”

Din huffed quietly. “If I make the example, I just become the next target. They have to defend themselves, too. I don’t plan on staying on this planet much longer.”

Mayfeld scoffed. “Well, I can’t stay either.” They exchanged a glance. “You don’t think they can do it themselves, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter if they can. It only matters if they do.” Just like Sorgan all over again, he thought. “We’ll still help if they need it.”

Mayfeld shook his head, lips twitching. “You’re insane, Djarin.” He puffed out air from his mouth, watching it condense in the cold air. “Not wrong, just insane.”

They both moved to climb on top of the border wall, watching the distant raiders group while the other inhabitants climbed down. They were the only ones up on the wall now, and they drew their blasters just in case.

“Can’t we just head them off now?” one of the native inhabitants called up. “Before they get here? We could make sure there’s no more damage to the settlement.”

Din though for a moment. “They might still change their minds.” He paused, taking in the words. “Move forward one hundred meters. That should be enough room”

The men and women moved forward. All the children had been holed up inside the city, protected by the adults that were not at the front lines, but Din suspected, as he laid eyes upon a few smaller figures, that some of the teenagers had come out to fight.

All was silent now. The raiders made no noise from their spot and shuffled in response to the miniscule movement forward by the settlement residents and volunteers. Din and Mayfeld readied their weapons, waiting, and Din felt a brief flash of yearning for his old rifle. He might have been able to make a long shot, and just be done with this mess.

He didn’t have long to wait, though. There as a long battle cry as the raiders began their charge towards the settlement, and the volunteers and residents met them with equal enthusiasm. They clashed in the middle with a flurry of blaster fire and screams. The residents combined with the volunteers outnumbered the raiders two to one, now, but many weren’t experienced enough in combat to hold their own in a fight. As one raider fell to the hands of three humans, another took its place, and another, and another.

Din and Mayfeld prepared for the worst as the raiders beat back the defending forces. It was almost too soon before the calamity reached the hundred meters where the defenders had started, and raiders started breaking through the forces, running towards the wall where the supplies had not been hidden. A stupid decision, he could hear the raiders thinking, to leave the bait unprotected.

As three raiders broke free from the group and charged towards the outer wall, Din and Mayfeld opened fire. With mostly perfect aim on both sides, they shot down all three, and this time Din allowed himself to make fatal shots.

“Is this still target practice?” Mayfeld yelled over the sounds of firing blasters.

“More or less,” Din replied as he emptied a perfect shot into the head of another approaching raider. Unfortunately, as he fired that shot, his blaster gave a little jerk as it jammed. Cursing, he put it back on his hip as he jumped down the wall to intercept another raider running for the loot. Mayfeld was still holding off the approaching skirmish as Din unstrapped his staff and swung. The raider was a lot bigger than Din had anticipated and wrestled the staff out of his grasp. With no other options, and cursing himself slightly for it, Din reached behind his cloak and fished out the hilt strapped to the small of his back. Igniting the darksaber, he swiped with it and the raider dropped dead.

“What the hell is that?!” Mayfeld screamed in shock as Din turned the saber off again and picked up his staff, holstering both again.

“Don’t ask,” he grumbled, and Mayfeld fell silent.

The fighting was over almost just as fast as it had started. Din and Mayfeld used stacked boxes to climb down the wall and meet the crowd of residents cheering as less than a dozen of the surviving raiders sprinted away. The feeling of joy abated as they surveyed the damage.

Out of almost seventy volunteers and residents, three lay dead, one volunteer and two residents, and six more were injured. Almost a third of the raiders were dead, however, and the dozen that had not fled were dragging other injured comrades back to the mountains.

As the night grew deeper, the children were brought back out and the dead mourned. The body of the volunteer that had accompanied Din was retrieved, and a funeral pyre was built for the two dead residents. A proper funeral would be had for the volunteers back in Aq Vetina.

Transport shuttles carted the injured to medical attention, others brought back injured from the first attack that day. Food and drink were passed around and songs of jubilation and sadness echoed through the night as the funeral flames touched the heavens.

Din allowed himself to be swept to the periphery, per usual. Hidden beneath the shadow of a shop’s exterior wall on the town center, he watched in peace. Mayfeld joined him after a little bit. They didn’t speak for a while, just watching, until Mayfeld spoke up.

“I never asked… why here?”

Din’s lips quirked a little. “I was born in Aq Vetina.”

Mayfeld’s eyebrows rose, still watching the flames reflected on his face. “Oh… so you aren’t a native Mandalorian?”

“No,” Din said. “Mandalorians aren’t a race, they’re a people. They rescued me when these settlements were seized during the Clone Wars.”

Mayfeld hummed, effectively hiding his momentary shock. “Oh, I heard about that. They’ve managed to rebuild, though.”

“I noticed.”

Mayfeld scoffed. “It’s still pretty boring here, though. I’m thinking of leaving.” His gaze flicked to Din.

Din didn’t look back, fully aware of Mayfeld’s eyes on him. “If you have something to ask, Mayfeld, just do it.”

Mayfeld scoffed again, then pointed a finger non-threateningly at Din. “You’re psychic, aren’t you?”

“No, I just know that you’re asking.”

“You have no idea what I’m asking!”

“Exactly, which is why you have to tell me what you’re asking.”

Mayfeld threw his hands in the air.

Din let his mouth fully curve this time in amusement. “Yes.”

Mayfeld’s cry of annoyance drew a few glances, but he whirled back to Din. “I haven’t asked anything! And you said you had no idea what I’m going to ask!”

“I inferred. You have a ship, then?”

“You’re impossible, Djarin.”

“So I’ve been told.”

_3 days later…_

The _Arrow Trail_ touched the ground with a noisy clank, and Din bit back a comment about Mayfeld’s piloting skills as he trudged through the sand towards the ship. All his belongings fit in one bag now, and his staff and blaster were holstered.

The doors opened to let him in, and Din spared one more glance at the waiting people set on seeing him off, some he had met and grown close to in his two years back in his home settlement. Raising an arm in farewell, he stepped into the ship as the doors closed.

“Where to, boss?”

“Anywhere,” Din said, taking over piloting controls in the cockpit as Mayfeld stepped inside. “And don’t call me boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please comment!!!!! :)
> 
> Next chapter: Another time skip and some certain SW characters (their names start with H, L, and S) No spoilers or anything, I'm just very excited.


	4. The Senator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second liberation of Kashyyyk brings along some unexpected allies and formidable foes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOWEE I'm actually very surprised at the length of this one. Originally, I was going to have this chapter and the next one be a singular update, but I got about 3000 words in and I realized that was not going to happen. 
> 
> I don't want to get in the habit of long-ass chapters like I was planning on doing, so I ended on a cliffhanger :D
> 
> This chapter is 4122 words. Which is much longer than I was expecting. I had a long weekend, okay? I was bored.

_12 ABY – 1 year later_

Din was awoken by a loud thudding. He sat up on his cot, the thin sheet slipping off his chest. Glaring over at the neighboring cot, he saw Mayfeld, still sleeping. Every few seconds, his limbs would thrash out and hit the metal wall of the _Arrow Trail_ with a socked foot. Mayfeld was dreaming… or more likely having a nightmare, given the mumbling and furrowed brow.

Din slipped out of his cot, his own socked feet padding across the metal floor, his bed clothes sticking to his skin. Bending over Mayfeld, Din was careful not to touch him and ready to move should the ex-Imperial make to hit him. He had made that mistake several times over the last year they had been travelling together.

“Mayfeld.”

“ _M’no… move y’ bas’rds…_ ” was all Mayfeld replied with, his foot banging the ship’s wall again.

“Mayfeld,” Din said, louder this time.

Mayfeld mumbled something that sounded like “ _run, ya’ boneless dick_ ,” and did not turn into wakefulness, merely thrashing around more.

“Migs!”

Mayfeld woke with a yell, and Din sprang back as Mayfeld swung out at thin air. He took several deep, heaving breaths and looked around with frantic eyes.

Din was standing several feet away in the shadow of the opposite wall. He watched as Mayfeld rubbed his face vigorously. “…sorry,” he mumbled.

Din checked the standard-hour clock on the nearby console. Din had turned in only about five hours ago. Mayfeld had probably done so later, but as he stood up and made his way to a more private area of the _Arrow Trail_ , Mayfeld did not look as if he had any intention of going back to sleep. Din was not going to try and convince him otherwise – Mayfeld was a stubborn man, and knowing the pair of them, they would continue on with their day as if nothing had happened. As per usual.

Din sighed as he stretched out his sleep-heavy muscles and changed into a new set of clothes. He still favored the deep red color he had adopted back in his home settlement, but over the last year traveling the galaxy with Mayfeld, he had bothered to get more resilient clothes, better for regions of all types.

Pulling off his sleep shirt, the control ball of the _Razor Crest_ bounced on his chest before he tucked it back in to the new shirt he put on. He stared at it for a swift moment, the momentary pang of longing squeezing his chest. He wondered where Grogu was now…

He continued to dress to distract himself. It had been a ritual when he traveled by himself in the past to dress. Putting on the armor had been tedious, with every single piece strapped and connected correctly and carefully. Now, all he had to do was sling his holster for his blaster on his hip, sheath in the darksaber to the small of his back, fasten his red cape, and strap his staff in.

His staff was shorter than his beskar spear had been… He paused for a moment, wondering where it might have ended up. He had not checked the alley where he had stripped off the beskar in Aq Vetina for almost a year after he had arrived. He didn’t want those memories to resurface quite yet, but when he had felt ready to potentially face his past again, the beskar was gone. He remembered he had scoffed at himself. _Stupid… only an idiot would leave a massive amount of pure beskar out in the open and expect to find it again a year later_.

Din had a nagging suspicion that Cara might have taken it. She knew, didn’t she? She always knew. If Din was being quite honest with himself, he thought of Cara now almost as much as he thought of Grogu. He had considered, in course of the last year of travelling with Mayfeld, reaching out to her on Nevarro and reclaiming his armor. But… he tried to pull himself out of his thoughts as he packed up his cot. He figured he was ready to reclaim his armor but bearing the responsibility of the darksaber would have to be part of that, and he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for that yet.

He straightened out his clothing then grabbed something to eat before making his way to the cockpit. Mayfeld was already there, munching on a nutrition pack and staring out the window with unseeing eyes. Din looked out the window and was taken aback. They had set course for Kashyyyk before they turned in and must have arrived while they slept.

Kashyyyk was beautiful. Din had rarely seen such deep blue oceans and vibrant green land masses. The atmosphere around curled in delicate clouds, and the nearby star was reflected across the surface like a pure mirror. In all his years of travelling the galaxy as a bounty hunter, he never really gotten to enjoy beautiful planets like this. Bounties never went to good planets. “Wow.”

Mayfeld’s gaze focused again, seeing the planet below them for the first time. “Hm… yeah.” He sighed and adjusted himself in the copilot chair as Din sat, too. “Not looking forward to the Wookies, though.”

Wookies can’t be that bad, Din thought to himself. Granted, he hadn’t met too many to give a full opinion. At least he could understand them, and most Wookies could understand Basic anyways. Twitching the controls, they began their descent down to the planet.

Din was half tempted to ask Mayfeld why they were there but bit it back as to not set Mayfeld off. He had just plugged in the coordinates to the planet last night without really telling Din why. Normally he had reasons for going to a planet: “I think one of my old friends is here” or “someone said this place makes great stuffed koba” or “I’ve just always wanted to see it”. The only time Din had offered up his own suggestion, they had run into a nasty deal with a bunch of hutt smugglers, so he wasn’t excited to give his own opinions anymore. Frankly, travelling aimlessly across the galaxy would be interesting and relaxing, if not for the nagging thoughts that had been plaguing Din for the last three years.

After a few minutes of shaky flight, they landed on the planet. Looking out the window, Din saw that their docking port was surrounded by arching wroshyr trees filled with carved abodes. Wookies walked together or alone around the beaches of pure white sand, carrying baskets and parcels. Children played in the water, and Din saw several foreign species, including a few Culisetto and humans. He almost completely glossed over a walking figure clad in purple on a balcony…

“That’s a Mandalorian!” Mayfeld almost shouted just as Din did a double-take. Indeed, the human clad in purple was indeed wearing a Mandalorian helmet, with a T-shaped visor, angled slightly the way women commonly wore it. She walked purposefully into an abode in a high tree and disappeared.

Mayfeld raced out of the _Arrow Trail_ before Din was completely over his shock. Blinking stupidly for a few seconds, he followed Mayfeld.

They made their way up into the abode and looked into some kind of tavern filled with the roaring sound of conversing Wookies. The woman was nowhere to be seen.

Mayfeld scoffed disappointedly. The first time they had come across a Mandalorian in a full year, and she escaped them. “You’d think with armor like that, she wouldn’t be hard to follow.”

Din was still wary. If she was good at hiding, as he figured many Mandalorians were, she had probably suspected they were following them, even if they hadn’t noticed. Looking around, he saw nothing. Turning his gaze up into the tree, he spotted a flash of purple. “Up there.”

By the time Mayfeld had turned to see where Din was referring to, he had already left to follow the woman. Din raced along a balcony leading higher up into the tree. The woman ignited her jetpack and skipped up a level of the stairs, disappearing from view. Din cursed under his breath, wishing he still had his own. Taking a running start, he jumped up to grab onto the ledge of the upper balcony she had disappeared onto. Fully aware she might have pulled a weapon on him, he climbed up. Sure enough, he was met with the muzzles of a pair of blocky, multicolored blasters. “Hands where I can see them, Imp.”

Scrambling to his feet, he did not make to pull his own blaster, but raised his hands to where she could see them. “Not an Imp. Don’t… shoot.” His brow furrowed as he took in the woman’s armor. It was less purple than it had seemed. Instead, it looked painted on, an absurd conglomeration clashing together to create, quite honestly, a work of art befitting a master of chaos. The breastplate was purple, yes, but streaks of red across both sides, and a blue painted purrgil on one of her pauldrons dispelled that illusion. Her shin coverings matched the breastplate, but the second pauldron had a checkered pattern, and the starbird of the rebellion had been sprayed over her heart. On her helmet was a pattern that reminded him of Bo-Katan’s owl, giving her the appearance of a bird of prey.

His confusion must have shown on his face. Underneath the helmet the woman scoffed. “What? Never seen a Mandalorian before?”

Wheezing behind him alerted them both to Mayfeld’s arrival. “Ha… n-never seen a… a Mandalorian before… Hah…” he stuttered sarcastically.

The woman’s head tilted ever so slightly, and she pointed one of her blasters towards Mayfeld, who’s face paled as he raised his arms as well. “You’ve seen other Mandalorians?” she asked, addressing him.

Mayfeld rolled his eyes. “Um, yeah? He _is_ one,” he said, gesturing his raised hands to Din, who sighed and turned to the woman again.

She did not lower her weapons. “Are you a pacifist? Why aren’t you wearing armor?”

“Why did you think we were Imps?” Din responded, completely ignoring her.

“Answer the question.”

Din huffed. “I’m not a pacifist. I left my armor with a friend a few years ago. I’m still Mandalorian.”

The woman slowly lowered her weapons. “What clan are you?”

“I… I was raised as a Foundling by the Children of the Watch.” Din expected her to raise her weapons again. Hindsight told him being a former Child of the Watch wasn’t the best title to have, and Bo-Katan and her cronies’ reactions to hearing the name those years ago told him they thought he was dangerous. But the woman didn’t raise her weapons again.

“You aren’t anymore, though,” she said confidently, holstering her blasters.

Din let his arms drop. “How did you know? And why did you think we were Imps?”

“Well, you said you’re still Mandalorian. Any Child of the Watch not wearing armor wouldn’t consider themselves Mandalorian anymore.” She made her way past them both. “Come on!” she yelled back as Din and Mayfeld looked at each other before following.

They made their way back into the tavern. The Wookies didn’t give them second glances as they seated themselves and the woman removed her helmet. Her hair was short and violently purple, and it stuck up at the front in the classic helmet-head fashion. “Sabine Wren,” she introduced herself and held out a hand.

“Din Djarin,” he said, accepting the handshake. “This is my partner,” he said, gesturing over to Mayfeld, who also introduced himself under the made-up name they had created for his safety (Jal Grambau) and shook hands with Sabine. “You never answered my question,” he pushed as soon as the pleasantries were complete.

Sabine sighed deeply and leaned back in her chair. She couldn’t be older than Din, but they looked around the same age. “Oh, there’s been a lot of Imperial action on this planet lately. They don’t really like me, so when you started following me, I figured something must be up.”

“What kind of Imperial action?” Mayfeld spoke up, leaning forward interestedly.

Sabine gave him a side-glance. “After the Battle of Endor, the New Republic wiped out the Imperial occupation here, but it’s grown active again over the last two years. I’ve been trying to get a piece of Imperial information for a little while, but no dice, so I came here hoping to find something, and then get rid of it again. The New Republic is actually going to help me do it. The Senator and the General should be here in a bit to discuss tactics.”

“We’ll help!” Mayfeld shot up in his seat. Din suspected Mayfeld knew about the Imperial action on Kashyyyk and had directed their path to this planet in hopes of dealing blows with his old employers again. Mayfeld probably didn’t realize that he was still wanted, and if there was actually a chance of a New Republic senator and general coming momentarily, Din wanted to warn him to be careful.

Sabine’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Where are you from, Grambau?”

Mayfeld started a bit after realizing she was referring to him by his made-up name. “Erm… Naboo. I left after the rise of the Empire.”

Sabine hummed and nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to extra help. I don’t know how much support the senator managed to get from the Republic. She managed to scrape by with only a few Wookie rebels the last time they liberated this place. I guess that explains why it’s creeping back up again.”

“Who is this senator?” Din asked, but Sabine’s answer was cut off by a loud roar from one of the Wookies in the tavern. Din, Mayfeld, and Sabine all turned, and the Wookie that had yelled was racing up to the door to the tavern.

Two more humans were standing there, a man and a woman. The Wookie embraced the man, almost bowling him over, to which the man responded with equal enthusiasm and cries of “Chewie!”. The Wookie then embraced the smaller woman, much gentler than it had been with the man.

“That’s them,” Sabine gestured. “Senator Leia Organa and General Han Solo.” She stood and hailed the pair. The man, Solo, waved back and they made their way over.

Solo and Organa pulled up their own chairs. “It’s good to see you in good health, Sabine,” Leia said kindly. Sabine smiled back in return. Leia turned to Din and Mayfeld. “Who are you?”

“Volunteers,” Sabine interjected. “I didn’t know how much support you were getting from the Republic Senate, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt.”

Din and Mayfeld introduced themselves. At first glance, the senator seemed like a kind woman. She was younger than Din, with her hair tied up in an elaborate braid around her head, but her gaze was hard and piercing, and was vaguely familiar. The man, on the other hand, even when sitting had a bit of a perpetual swagger. He slouched in his seat like he owned the tavern, and had confidence permanently etched into his face.

“Well, I won’t say no to extra hands,” Leia agreed. “The senate only gave me two platoons,” she said bitterly.

“Which is more than last time,” Solo said, raising a finger. “And Chewbacca here says there are more Wookies ready to fight than last time,” he continued, referring to the Wookie that stood behind them.

“But that’s less than one hundred men!” Sabine protested. “I _need_ the information from this base, senator, can’t the Republic do more?”

“Wait, what information are you even looking for?” Solo interrupted Leia, who shot him a dirty glance.

“An admiral of the Empire. I need to know where he is. He has one of my friends,” Sabine said, clearly upset at the lack of support.

“I’m truly sorry, Sabine,” Leia said. “We’ll do our best, but the moff who rebuilt the Imperial forces here is dangerous. I don’t want to get closer than I have to. Now,” she said, getting back to business. “I separated out two squadrons from the platoons we have. If we save them for an airstrike, we might be able to get close enough to the base to get in and get your information, but it’ll be hard to-“

“Wait,” Din interrupted. Leia’s gaze turned to him. “A moff?”

“Yes, Moff Gideon,” she said. “As I was saying, it’ll be hard to get too close without the airstrike in the first place if we save the ground-level attack…”

Leia’s words were drowned out as a buzzing filled Din’s ears. Moff Gideon was on this planet. Moff Gideon had escaped imprisonment. Moff Gideon was still hunting the child…

“Alright there, pal?” Solo clapped a hand on Din’s shoulder, and he started. Everyone around the table was staring at him.

Din turned to Leia. “Moff Gideon was arrested by the New Republic three years ago. I helped. He escaped? What happened?”

Understanding crossed Leia’s face. “Yes. He escaped about a year after his imprisonment began. We don’t know what he’s up to. We don’t even know if he’s here on this new base, but we know how dangerous he is.”

Din slouched back in his chair. Sabine, Leia, and Solo continued their discussion of battle tactics, but Mayfeld kept his eyes on Din and leaned in from next to him. “Is this the moff you needed me to track? The one who was after the kid?”

“ _Is_ after the kid,” Din corrected. Fear for Grogu flooded him, as it had constantly done while he was protecting him. After three years, the panic had subsided, but with the knowledge that Gideon was still out there, it arose again in him like a parasite. “I need to find the Jedi who took him,” he said, careful to keep his voice down. “I need to warn him. Gideon won’t stop hunting him.”

Mayfeld nodded, and in equal volume, whispered to him, “You remember his name? The Jedi? We can try and track them down once we’re done here.”

Din nodded. “It was… Skywalker, I think.” He struggled to remember the first name that Boba Fett had thrown out on the cruiser.

Mayfeld’s brow furrowed. “Luke Skywalker? The Resistance pilot? I didn’t realize he’s a Jedi.” Din shrugged. Mayfeld nodded anyway. “I got no clue where he would be. Maybe we could ask these guys for help?”

Din wasn’t sure about that. He still remembered what Gideon had told him on the Imperial cruiser. _A friendly word of advice – assume I know everything_. “I don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves. The quieter we are about it, the better.”

It struck him now how Mayfeld was risking his own freedom to help him. Right in front of a senator. He could be arrested again, maybe executed by the New Republic if they found out who he was. This senator clearly didn’t like the Empire. It wouldn’t surprise Din if she shot Mayfeld down for being ex-Imperial, and then shot down Din for helping him. Din nodded his thanks and Mayfeld leaned back to listen to the continuing conversation.

“When do we act?” Sabine asked, straight-backed.

“As soon as possible,” Leia said. “The ship we arrived in is fairly recognizable, and there’s a high chance the Imperials have already noticed there’s a New Republic troop carrier in orbit as we speak. The base is on the other side of the planet, so I say we call down the troops now and wrap this up before it gets messy.”

“If your ship is so recognizable,” Mayfeld started, “won’t you need a more discreet ship to get to the base?”

Solo and Leia blinked. Apparently, they had not thought of this. Solo shrugged in agreement. “I mean, yeah, unless you’ve got one?”

Mayfeld and Din exchanged a glance, where Din was cautious, but accepting and Mayfeld was excited. “We have a ship. A UT-60D. It’s small enough to not get noticed, but big enough to fit all of us,” Mayfeld said. “And no offense to your friend,” he continued, gesturing to Chewbacca, “but I’m not too keen on making a cross-planet trip in a ship full of Wookies.”

Solo grinned and stood up. He held out a hand, and Mayfeld copied his actions. “Great minds think alike, Grambau.”

The _Arrow Trail_ ’s size was definitely overstated, Din thought as the group of six piled in. There were hardly enough seats for all of them, and with the Wookie inside it was getting smelly, too. Solo had insisted that it was only one Wookie, and Chewbacca was very well trained (this comment had earned him a blow across the top of the head), so it wouldn’t be too much of an issue.

Leia made her way inside after sending up a message to the New Republic ship in orbit to release the X-wings at her signal, but to send down the troop carriers. Once the New Republic troops and Wookie rebels were situated, they made their way off.

Din piloted the _Arrow Trail_ up towards the sky, remaining level enough with the trees so that they had some cover. Solo and Leia conversed quietly in the body of the ship, holding hands, while Sabine and Chewbacca cleaned their weapons. Mayfeld kept shooting wary glances at Din.

“It’ll be fine,” he said.

Din just nodded silently.

There was silence for a few minutes. In total the trip should only take about half an hour. Din let his gaze slide over to one of the Wookie transports flying beside them. He tried to distract himself from his rising panic by focusing on something else. The way the trees curved in the wind, or the way the whispy clouds separated as a TIE fighter cut through them…

“Shit!” he yelled at the same time as the Wookie transport beside them exploded, and Mayfeld screamed. The _Arrow Trail_ veered to the side as he made to escape while the TIE fighter opened fire. Three more Imperial ships joined the first one and made quick work of the remaining Wookie transports and the troop carriers.

Din jerked the ship to the side and attempted to avoid what was now four TIE fighters closing in. Their missed fire either bounced off the shields Din had scrambled to put up or raised up waves of water in the lakes below. An almighty jerk and the squeal of alarms told him that one shot had been so lucky as to hit them.

Leia leaned in as smoke filled the ship. “Open the doors!” she yelled over the alarms.

“What?” Mayfeld and Solo yelled at the same time. Din just looked at her and did as she asked.

“I’ll try and hold them off! Get out of here!” Sabine called, putting on her helmet and igniting her jetpack. She jumped out of the ship.

“She’s crazy!” Solo yelled. “She can’t take out four TIE fighters!”

Leia made her way back into the cabin. “There’s a lake coming up beneath us! Use Sabine as a distractor and jump!”

Mayfeld spared Din one more glance and scrambled back into the cabin. Din steadied the controls and then let go. Looking out the window, Sabine was darting around the TIE fighter nearest them, and she had rigged something, so it exploded in a swirl of fire. The lake was almost beneath them. Leia, Solo, and Chewbacca all jumped. Mayfeld screamed back at Din before he, too jumped. “Hurry up!”

Din sprinted to the cabin, intending on taking a running start, but another hit to the _Arrow Trail_ threw him off balance. “No!” Looking out the open doors, the lake zoomed beneath the ship, and now trees beneath him were coming closer as the ship lost altitude.

He stood and grabbed onto the ship wall for support as he felt pure fear rising in his stomach. If he waited much longer, he would surely die in the crash, if the TIE fighters didn’t land another shot before that. Jumping would be his best option, but with no confidence in a safe landing…

He inhaled and stepped out of the ship before he could think too hard. His last thought on solid ground was of his jetpack.

Twisting in the air, he caught one more glimpse of another exploding TIE fighter, all thanks to Sabine. A plummeting feeling was all he could feel now except for his fear, and he closed his eyes and hoped for the best as the trees grew closer and closer…

Something large barreled into him, something that was definitely not Sabine, and everything went black as he hit the solid earth with a heavy thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave your thoughts in the comments - they're much appreciated!!


	5. The Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din gets unexpected help and recovers from his fall. He makes an unlikely team with Han Solo to rescue their group from the Imperial base on Kashyyyk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY BEJEEZUS these chapters keep getting longer. We hit 5500 words on this one *facepalm* but I just kept getting good ideas. It's just over 18 pages on a word doc double spaced. Hoo boy. 
> 
> I'm coming clean: I've had writers block since like April of last year, and now that it's gone and I have a project again, it's like I can't stop writing. Which isn't helping my grades, but whatever. And ya'll seem to enjoy this, so we're all good :)
> 
> I'm currently watching a YT video of Luke's hallway scene in chapter 16 synced to "I need a hero". It's amazing.

Din woke up and he felt nothing but pain. He was on his back, his legs sprawled strangely, and his arms curled around his chest. He tried to move his arms to sit up, but his left wrist screamed in protest, and his ribs felt like they were on fire. And his head… nearly unbearable pain made his surroundings spin.

He opened his eyes. The woods around him were dark, and stars were shining through the treetops. He must have been unconscious for a while. He lifted his head a fraction of a degree, trying not to heave, and saw what looked like a small hill about a hundred meters from him and… his heart dropped as he saw the human figure standing in front of him.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance, shouldn’t you, Djarin?”

He knew this wasn’t a nightmare. His nightmares were never as calm as this. His nightmares were filled with explosions and faceless droids, not evil Imperial moffs. Din opened his mouth as he dropped his head back, energy running out. His throat was dry and cracked, and his head was pounding. “Gideon,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and weak.

“Hm.” Gideon stepped forward to where Din could see him without lifting his head. “I know exactly where your friends are. Leia Organa _can_ help you find the Jedi, if that’s why you want to find her, but…” Gideon sighed, almost mockingly. “Think, Djarin. If I know everything, do you really want to lead me right to the child?”

Din closed his eyes and let the pain wash over him. Having no intention of correcting Gideon, he decided to ask his own question. “If you… know everything… answer this… why is Bo-Katan more dangerous… to you as Mand’alor?” The thought had plagued him for years. On the bridge of the Imperial cruiser, Gideon had aimed the blaster at Bo-Katan, not Din. Din had the darksaber, so if Gideon wanted it that badly, he would have shot Din, wouldn’t he? If Din figured correctly, Gideon aimed for her because he didn’t want her to challenge Din to get the darksaber, or to have any kind of political power.

Gideon smiled. “Fine. I’ll answer. Bo-Katan isn’t more dangerous than you in any sense meaningful to the Empire, but she’s a bigger thorn. Monarchies are much harder to destabilize than democracies. Any system of government she sets up will be difficult for the Empire to take down, especially compared to what you might do.” Din opened his eyes and glanced at him, not quite understanding. Gideon was looking down at him, a smirk on his lips. He crouched next to Din. “But Bo-Katan is _less_ dangerous to me in particular than you, Djarin. You’ve made a few shocking deals to protect the child. But of course,” Gideon’s hands reached for Din’s throat. “You can’t reunite Mandalore and protect the child if you’re dead.”

With no ability to move his broken body, Din felt Gideon’s hands wrap around his neck and squeeze. Adrenaline rushed uselessly through his veins, and his hands scrabbled helplessly at Gideon’s stronger grip. Din felt his vision clouding and going dark, and the pain in his head was threatening to rise up from his stomach. He was surely going to die…

There was a rustle from near the small hill, and Gideon’s grip retracted. “Maybe you’ll be more interesting left alive, Djarin,” Gideon whispered in his ear. Din fixed his blurry gaze on the Imp as he raised a blaster and fired a stunning shot. Din’s head fell back on the ground, and he dropped into unconsciousness again.

He woke up to a loud roaring noise. He jerked awake and tried to sit up before he remembered his injuries, then laid down again as he started feeling nauseous. It was day, now, probably morning given the dew dampening his clothes. Grunting as pain overwhelmed him, he stared around as he leaned back again, and his jaw dropped at the sight.

The small hill he thought he had seen when he had woken up in the night was moving and was definitely not a hill. It was a massive animal, some kind of bird with two massive horns curling around its head, clawed hind legs tearing at the ground, but the roar that had awoken him was not from the bird. A female Wookie was raising her arms to the bird, trying to calm it down. She was roaring as the bird stomped unhappily. All the noise was definitely not helping his pounding head.

Din fell back as the “argument” continued, and it was driven out of his head by the realization that he couldn’t breathe correctly. Each inhale caused him awful pain in his ribs, and the wrist he had used to push off Gideon was now aching and swollen underneath his wrist-wrappings, judging by the uncomfortable tightness. He tested out his legs to ensure his spine was still intact – they shuffled in the flattened grass as he commanded them, his left knee twinging uncomfortably. His breath came a little easier as he relaxed and realized the roaring had ceased.

The Wookie appeared over his head. She looked fairly young for a Wookie, but Din didn’t let that faze him. She had a bladestick and a blaster strapped to herself and held a large pack on her back. Apparently, she had calmed the bird, because it wasn’t making as much noise, but he didn’t have the strength to lift his head to see. She huffed and gurgled, and Din was extremely grateful he understood Shyriiwook. _The Shyyyo bird saved you. It’s protecting you,_ he translated.

Din rolled his eyes. Yeah, fat load of good the bird had done as he was being strangled last night… The Wookie roared again. _You are injured. I can help you._

Din paused, then figured the worst she could do was sabotage his injuries or kill him and nodded, and she pulled him into a sitting position as he groaned in pain. He gritted his teeth as she pulled him up. Rummaging in her pack, she took out a skin of water and offered it to him. He weakly took it, and she helped him tip it to his mouth. Instantly, his throat felt clearer and he sighed in relief.

“Who are you?” he mumbled as she replaced the skin and started making a fire.

 _My name is Brommo. I was watching the ships take off and saw what happened._ She let him breathe for a few seconds, and she asked him to point to where his pain was. _This will hurt_ , she said after getting a scope of his injuries, and grabbing his arms roughly and fixed his position so he wasn’t leaning to the side.

“No… shit,” he panted as the pressure on his ribs increased, and she huffed in either amusement at his pain or disappointment at his state. From here, he could clearly see that the Shyyyo bird had curled up again and was watching them with beady eyes. Brommo undid his wrist wrappings and prodded at his swollen and bruised joint. It wasn’t broken, but as she twisted and moved in every direction to test it, he tried with all his might not to make too much noise.

 _It is sprained badly. Hold still, I will numb it._ Brommo rubbed some kind of ointment against the injury, and it immediately felt better. She stabilized his wrist with a protective cloth and then replaced his wrist wrapping.

“How did you find me?” Din muttered as the Wookie moved down to test the mobility of his legs. He felt a thrill of nausea looking at them – they were covered in cuts and bruises turning purple. She prodded at his joints and dressed the cuts.

 _I saw you falling,_ she gargled. _The Shyyyo bird intercepted your fall. It saved your life_. _It took me nearly all night to locate you_. Din looked at the bird and it looked back. He wanted to ask why it had saved him, but he guessed Brommo probably wouldn’t know.

His left kneecap looked dislocated upon inspection, and she raised an arm to hit it back in place. His arms flew out to stop her. “Wait!” His voice cracked.

She grunted motherly. _I have to set it back. It will not heal properly_. Without giving him a warning, her arm flung out and hit his kneecap back into place. He yelped and he gritted his teeth, gasping for air as Brommo retreated and bound his knee. _I will not numb it. You will need it to walk._

He nodded weakly as she helped replace his boots, tying them neatly. “Why are you helping me?”

She grunted in response. _I trust you are a good man. You are working with the General Solo and my cousin, Chewbacca. They have been taken by the Empire. They are imprisoned on their base._

“What?” Din yelped. She pushed him back with surprising strength as he tried to sit forward and gasped in pain again.

 _You are no use to them injured. We will rescue them. You must let me finish._ She handed him the water again. _Catch your breath and remove your cape and weapons. I will set your ribs._ She turned to tend to the fire for a moment while he tried to brace himself. Hands shaking from exhaustion, he sipped the water and did as she asked. He didn’t spare a second thought to Gideon. He didn’t want to relive that yet. Instead, he asked another question. “Are you a doctor?”

 _Yes_ , she grunted. She eyed him, not suspiciously. _Do you trust me?_

Din rolled his eyes and felt embarrassment flaring in his chest. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Brommo barked with laughter. _No. Lean up now. You must sit forward if I am to do this correctly._

Grunting and gritting his teeth, he pushed forward off the tree trunk he had been leaning against. Sitting back like that had hurt, but it was nothing compared to his pain levels now. He couldn’t breathe, but Brommo grabbed his wrist and pulled his hands over one of her shoulders. He was effectively hugging the Wookie now, feeling a bit foolish and helpless as his fingers pulled at bit at her fur to keep his position, but she didn’t seem to mind, and busied herself tending to his ribs.

He tensed every muscle and squeezed his eyes shut as she fixed the alignment of one rib. Thankfully, she didn’t have to hit him again, and started bandaging him up after she dabbed more numbing ointment to ease the pain.

He released a sigh of relief as she finished and leaned him against the tree again. He pulled down his shirt with his good wrist, covering up the bruise mosaic. Turning back to the fire, he hadn’t even realized she had pots over it, cooking something. She handed him a bowl of whatever it was, and he sniffed it. _It is broth. You need energy if we are to rescue your party. And stay awake._

Din eyed her, then sipped the broth. It instantly filled him with a heady feeling, and his eyes were no longer struggling to stay open. His hands stopped shaking from exhaustion as he took more sips, careful to not overexert himself. His head still hurt, but some pain had abated, and the nausea eased.

He finished the bowl and Brommo huffed in appreciation of his appetite. She handed him a cup filled with what looked like tea. _We do not have much time. You must get on your feet before the Empire comes looking for you_.

He gratefully drank the tea as he had done the broth, and thanks to Brommo, he somehow managed to stumble to his feet. The Shyyyo bird raised its head warily and stared at him for a few moments. Then it huffed loudly and rose to its hind legs, feathered wings battering the ground. Approaching it, its massive red eye leveled with Din’s head, and it let out a rumbling purr-like noise.

He held out his good hand and the bird slowly lowered its head, so his hand brushed its beak. Brommo appeared behind him, with her bags all packed and the fire smoking as it died. “Why did it save me?” he asked her, not expecting a straight answer.

 _It may have sensed you_ , she gurgled. _Shyyyo birds are protectors of my people. They sign good fortune and peace to those see them._

Din didn’t feel at peace, though. The bird pulled back from his hand, and seemed to be sniffing the air, beak raised up towards the sky. It started making shuffling movements again, and uneasiness filled Din’s stomach, not from his nausea or his pain.

 _Something is not right_ , Brommo growled lowly. Din stared around them. The bird was shuffling and huffing, and the trees were swaying in the breeze, and there was definitely movement in the flora around them.

The unmistakable sounds of TIE fighters filled his ears. He pulled out his blaster, and Brommo pushed him towards the bird, roaring for him to run. She pulled out her bladestick as the TIE fighters whooshed overhead, and stormtroopers popped up from the surrounding shrubbery.

Din stumbled up in front of the bird, and it lowered its head and laid out its wing. A truly insane idea passed through Din’s brain, and thinking fast, he acted on it. A heavy limp in his run, he clambered up onto the bird’s outstretched wing, and, feeling foolish, scooted himself until he was crouched in the bird’s massive back. Digging his fingers into the feathers underneath him, he scanned the ground below for Brommo.

She was making quick work of the stormtroopers with her bladestick in one hand and her blaster in another. Shooting down stormtroopers as they emerged from the greenery, she cut down others as they got too close to her.

Din aimed his own blaster as a stormtrooper emerged from behind her, his blast hitting true to the chest. The Shyyyo bird shook its head angrily and flapped its wings. “Come on!” he yelled to Brommo as she fired another shot, but she just waved him off. He had full intent on sliding off the bird to aid her, but a dozen more troopers marched into their little clearing. He fired shots off as best he could, thankful his injured wrist was not his dominant one, but as he made to jump off the bird, the sound of TIE fighters returned, and heavy blaster fire started raining down on them.

The Shyyyo bird had clearly had enough and raised its wings to take off. “No!” Digging his fingers into the feathers underneath him, he saw the ground beneath them ripple with the fighter’s fire and saw Brommo thrown up into the air.

“No!” But it was too late. The bird pushed up off the ground with a jerk that did no favors for Din’s ribs and took flight through the trees. Rising higher and higher, they broke through the treetops and Din finally saw the singular TIE fighter in all its glory. As it rained more fire down on the ground were Brommo lay, probably dead, he fired off useless shots at it, pinging off the strong exterior of the ship.

As the bird swept its magnificent wings, the fighter circled back around to target it. The bird turned in a strange maneuver and Din held on for dear life as it grabbed the ship in its claws and tore it apart. The fighter fell to the skirmish below and exploded on contact with the ground.

The bird took straight flight again and glided away from the explosion. Din watched with horror in his heart as the fire arched up in a sphere, catching trees in the inferno. Nothing on that forest floor would be left alive.

Adrenaline pounded through his veins. For the first time since the day before, though, he felt more invigorated and angrier. He quite honestly had no clue where the Imperial base was, but he was going to be sure to tear it apart beam by beam.

His pain almost forgotten, he started scanning the clear skies and ground below for any signs of the Imperial action that Sabine or Leia had mentioned. Going in alone would be impossibly foolish, but it wasn’t like he had any better ideas.

The bird flew them both for about another quarter of an hour. Soon enough, they reached another beach, and, flying parallel to the shore, Din saw the Imperial base up ahead. Facing the ocean, it looked like a tower and was surprisingly small. Thankfully, the Shyyyo bird did not fly straight up to it, and Din didn’t even pause to question how in the Maker’s name the bird knew where he wanted to go. It circled around on a singular spot on the beach and landed with a spray of sea foam and sand.

He slid off its back, knee giving out a bit as he landed. He barely had time to take in his surroundings, with the beach on one side, and the tree line a hundred meters on the other, when there was a yell of “Hands where I can see them!”

He sighed, then raised his hands and spun slowly. He almost sobbed in relief when he saw that it wasn’t another stormptrooper, but General Solo.

“Well, push me in a sarlaac pit! Where have you been, pal?” Solo yelped as he recognized Din. He returned his blaster and motioned for Din to accompany him back to the cover of the trees after looking down the beach. Din turned to see the Shyyyo bird taking off, spraying him with more sand before it disappeared, flying out over the ocean.

Din followed Solo back to the trees. Solo was standing there, waiting, with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “We thought you died,” he accused, pointing a finger at Din. “We couldn’t find you after we abandoned ship.”

“Well, I’m not dead,” Din responded dryly. “I missed the water.”

Solo scoffed, smiling sarcastically. “What, the big bird saved you?”

“Yes,” Din replied dryly. “Where are the others? I heard you were found.”

Solo narrowed his eyes. “Well, we jumped out of the ship, and then camped until night, but we were attacked by a bunch of Imps. I managed to get out, but they got Leia, Chewie, and your guy, so I took one of the stormtrooper’s speeders and followed them here.”

So Mayfeld had still been alive. “Are they still alive? And what about Sabine?”

Solo shrugged. “No clue. And,” he approached Din with an accusatory stance. “You weren’t there. How did you know we were attacked?”

“A Wookie found me. She told me.”

“Uh huh.” Solo retreated. He huffed, then looked around. Turning back to Din, he raised an eyebrow. “You sure I can trust you?”

Din shrugged. “Can’t make you sure of anything.”

Solo scoffed again. “Either you’re gonna kill me, or I’ll marry you, Djarin. Don’t tell my wife I said that.”

“No thanks,” Din quipped. “Do you have a plan?”

Solo cackled. Holding up a commlink transponder, he grinned expectantly. Din didn’t get it. “It’s Leia’s!” Solo protested at Din’s blank gaze. “I can call down the X-wings!”

“Oh. Your plan is calling down twenty X-wings and hoping for the best?”

“Ha ha,” Solo pouted. “Leia managed to get me one message. All that’s on the base is a skeleton crew.”

Din couldn’t help but not believe that. “I don’t think so. I saw three dozen stormtroopers and a TIE fighter just thirty minutes ago.”

Solo paused. “Uh, yeah, but not on the base. Leia said they were making one more sweep on their way off planet.”

Din scowled. This man was probably an idiot. “Moff Gideon knows we’re here. Why would he…” Oh. Moff Gideon wanted them to succeed so Din would ask Leia to lead him straight to Grogu. He had as much as spelled it out for Din. He _wanted_ to make this easy for them. Which probably meant that Leia’s examination of the mere skeleton crew was correct. “Shit.”

“Wait, Gideon knows we’re here?” Solo tensed, and his hand drifted down to his blaster. “How do you know that?”

Din also tensed but didn’t reach for his blaster. “He found me last night. He told me he knows exactly where the others are. And that was just last night. They’re probably still on that base.”

Solo’s muscles unwound a bit, but his hand didn’t stray from its trajectory to his blaster. “He found you last night? Why? How?”

“I have no idea how, but he tried to strangle me, so there’s that for your ‘why’,” Din snarked, and watched as Solo’s hand stopped. “If we’re going to get the others out of there, we need to get moving.”

Solo spared him one more glare before he raised the commlink to his mouth. “Lieutenant, do you copy?” A gurgling ‘yes’ answered. “Ready the X-wings. Wait for my signal.”

Din felt himself tipping a bit as he started feeling dizzy. His hands searched for a tree or something to hold onto, but Solo came to his aid and grabbed his wrist.

Din yelped as Solo grabbed his bad wrist, to which Solo paled a bit and tried to help set Din on the ground by grabbing him around the chest, but that certainly didn’t help the state of his ribs. On pure instinct, he wriggled out of Solo’s grasp, gasping in pained gulps of air.

“Son of a mudscuffer, what happened to you?” Solo muttered as Din plopped on the ground.

“Missed the water, didn’t I?” Din wheezed. Solo cursed under his breath. “I can still walk… I just need to catch my breath.” Solo stared at him skeptically. “Honest,” Din protested. He stayed down while Solo just stared at him for a bit.

Solo huffed. “Fine.” He held out a hand, and Din took it, trying to pull himself up, but Solo did more work.

Din sighed in relief. At least standing made his ribs hurt less, but his head was still pounding. Brommo’s numbing agents were still working on his wrist, and his knee was holding up fairly well against the bandages. As Solo started trudging down the tree line, Din followed in a slow limp.

They walked for what felt like miles. Every muscle in Din’s body was aching in protest by the time they reached the barrier around the base. Desperately trying to hide his gasps for air, he and Solo crouched down at the fortifications. Leia’s observation must have been correct. There wouldn’t be enough men to hold down external forces if it really was a skeleton crew, but, Din’s stomach squeezed at the though, there would be more than enough TIE fighters to hold them off if the airstrike failed.

“Here’s the deal,” Solo muttered, pulling Din aside, more carefully this time. “I call down the pilots, draw out the forces, and warn them not to blow the place until the others are safely out. We get in, find them, get out, and then we tell the pilots to blow this place to smithereens, got it?”

Din nodded wordlessly, still trying to keep his heart rate under control.

“I don’t know what in Maker’s name Wren wanted from this place, but she can’t get it if Gideon’s not here,” Solo muttered, almost to himself, before raising the transponder to his mouth again. “Send down the X-wings. Tell them _not_ to fire on the base until I give the word.”

“ _Yes, sir_ ,” the lieutenant crackled in response.

Solo gestured at Din to follow him, and they crept towards the large gates at the entrance to the base. There were only four guards, and, in a small flurry of blaster fire, dropped dead.

They crept forward, aware of the cameras probably alerting any officer inside of their presence. They rushed inside as the sound of approaching X-wings filled the air, and the whine of defending TIE fighters came to meet them. Din watched in stunned silence as the two groups of ships clashed in midair and wove in an out of each other’s fire. Not a single shot touched the ground of the base. He turned and followed Solo into the base through the terminal that was no longer releasing TIE fighters.

They ran together, Din limping along. If any stormtroppers saw them, they didn’t live long enough to pull any kind of alarm. “We need to find an officer,” Solo muttered. “To take us to the brig.”

They were spinning through passages to no avail. No stormtroopers, no officers, no droids even. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Din whispered as they passed through yet another empty hall. “It’s too quiet.”

He had spoken too early. They rounded a corner and were met with half a dozen blaster muzzles, five stormtroopers and one uniformed woman. “Well,” Solo sighed. “We found an officer.”

“Drop your weapons!” the officer barked. Din and Solo exchanged a look and set their blasters on the ground. “And the staff!” she screeched. Din had the faint clue that this was a new officer. Her voice was shaking. He drew out his staff and dropped it on the floor. “Restrain them!” the officer ordered.

Din kept his face neutral as the stormtroopers held his arms behind his back. They didn’t even have cuffs. What a mistake, he thought to himself. If only they had told him to drop _all_ his weapons… But this officer might take them to where Leia, Mayfeld, and Chewbacca were, and maybe Sabine, too. He glanced at Solo to attempt to exchange the message through eye contact. Solo raised his eyebrows a miniscule amount but didn’t respond in any other way.

The officer led the group down several more hallways, and Din’s thoughts whirled through his mind as the stormtrooper holding him pulled his arms and aggravated his ribs. One stormtrooper holding him, one holding Solo, four more in front of them holding their weapons, then the officer. She led the group to a door and opened it to reveal… an empty holding cell. Nobody was in there, no Leia, no Mayfeld. Din saw Solo pout out his peripheral vision. Yeah, he thought, this wasn’t working.

Before the stormtroopers could push them into the room, Din acted. Tugging his arms closer to his back, he slipped one arm underneath his cape and found the hilt of the obscured darksaber.

“Duck!” he warned Solo before igniting the blade and embedding it into the trooper behind him, then sweeping around him and catching three more troopers in the chest. The officer fell back and toppled over as Din advanced, striking down the two remaining troopers. Maker, was he thankful that his sprained wrist wasn’t his dominant.

Solo whistled appreciatively from behind him. Picking up their weapons, he gave Din back his blaster, then approached the officer. “Well, now that that’s over with, would you be so kind as to lead us to where the other prisoners are?” he grinned, then plucked her off the ground.

Din’s legs were shaking again. Picking up his staff, he replaced it, and turned off the darksaber.

“Damn, don’t put that thing away,” Solo protested. “What even is it?”

“It’s a darksaber,” Din muttered, not stowing it away quite yet.

“Like, a lightsaber?” Solo asked. “You aren’t a Jedi, are you?”

“No,” Din replied shortly, trying to not let his exhaustion become apparent.

Solo shrugged, then prodded the officer forward. “Come on, then.” Her eyes were wide, and Din felt a little bad terrorizing her. She was still young.

She led them back down more hallways, not struggling at Solo’s firm hand between her shoulder blades, hands clenched at her sides. Din was limping behind them ready to either fire his baster or ignite the darksaber again at the next glimmer of violence. The officer led them to a large set of sliding doors, leading to what was clearly the control room of the bridge.

Solo glanced back at Din and readied his blaster. Ordering the officer to open the door, they entered the room together, pushing the officer forward.

Din didn’t really know what to expect when he entered, but what he saw didn’t shock him. Mayfeld and Chewbacca were bound and kneeling. Sabine was sprawled on the ground, stirring faintly, and Leia was standing behind the head officer, hands bound behind her back. Everyone’s gaze fell on Din, Solo, and the officer as they entered.

Solo and Din raised their blasters as the other dozen officers and stormtroopers readied their weapons. “Give us the prisoners, and we’ll leave you alive,” Solo bartered, voice loud and commanding.

The head officer barked with laughter. “We have you outnumbered six to one, general. You are in no place to bargain. Your X-wings have not touched our base yet.”

“Well, I told them to do that,” Solo snarked. “I could definitely get them to, though.” He held up the transponder and gloated as the officer’s face paled.

“Oh,” Leia gasped softly in understanding. “I thought we just had rubbish pilots.”

The head Imp scowled. “Do not attack,” he ordered his men through gritted teeth.

Din limped forward and undid the bonds on Mayfeld and Chewacca as Solo stepped towards the officer. The two stood up as Din approached Sabine and checked for a pulse on her neck. Her eyes peeked open as his fingers prodded, and she nodded a minuscule amount. Satisfied she was alright and perfectly aware of the situation, Din turned back to Mayfeld and Chewbacca.

Solo was still talking. “We’ll just be on our way now.”

The head officer scowled. “I don’t think so,” he growled. “Fire!” All the stormtroopers and officers attacked at once.

Sabine scrambled up and started blasting, and Mayfeld and Chewbacca tackled the officers nearest. Leia and Solo took out the stormtroopers beside them, and Din raced up towards the head officer, igniting the darksaber again, taking out another three troopers on the way.

The scuffle was over before it started. Din had the head Imp pinned, and the other officers and stormtroopers were all either dead or groaning in pain.

Din pushed the Imp towards the rest of the group and looked up. He had been expecting them to be making their way towards the door, making to get out of the base before Solo gave the word to fire on the base, but they were all frozen, staring at Sabine.

And Sabine… Din’s heart dropped to his stomach. Her blasters were both pointing at him, and her eyes were wide. He raised his hands in a sign of peace, turning off the darksaber. “Sabine, listen-“

“Did you kill her?” she screeched.

“I… what?” Din was confused. Who was she talking about?

“Did you kill her?” Sabine repeated. “If you killed her, so help me, I will murder you with my bare hands.”

“Who are you talking about?” Leia asked placatingly, rushing in between them, effectively protecting Din.

“That saber belongs to Bo-Katan Kryze! You had to have taken it from her!” Sabine yelled at Din over Leia’s shoulder.

“I… she’s still alive,” Din said. So Sabine knew Bo-Katan, then. He was feeling faint again. “I didn’t get the saber from her. I got it from-“

“You’re lying!” Sabine screamed.

“Stop it!” Solo yelled, holding his hands out. “Calm down!” His transponder crackled, and he held it up to his ear. “ _…firing on the base or not? These TIE fighters are getting to be a bit much…”_

Leia cursed under her breath and grabbed the transponder. “We aren’t out yet, lieutenant, hold your fire.” She turned to the rest of the group. “We have to get out of here. Sabine… did you get what you needed?”

Sabine glared down at the unconscious head Imp, still fuming. “No. It’s not here.”

“Fine, then,” Leia said. “Come on.” They left the control room behind, and quickly rushed out of the base.

Din stumbled a few times on the way out. Mayfeld faltered and fell into step with him. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Din muttered breathlessly. “You?”

Mayfeld hummed a ‘yes’. They reached the terminal that Solo and Din had used to enter and found a troop carrier and stumbled inside.

Din collapsed on the as soon as he was able. Pressing his head against the metal wall of the heavy speeder, Solo started the engine, and Leia sent up word to the X-wing pilots. “Fire at will.”

Sabine leaned on the wall opposite Din as the speeder left the terminal. Looking out the window, the entire crew saw the X-wings open fire at the base, and it exploded in a fiery torrent. There was silence inside the carrier as Sabine tensed, turning her gaze back to Din.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya know, I'm not entirely sure about this chapter. I know I said I was excited to write it, but eeeeeeh
> 
> Anyways, leave your thoughts they literally give me life (that's cliche, isn't it *another facepalm*)
> 
> ALSO i'm really sad because I responded to a comment last chapter about how I had a wonky week coming up. Basically I was going to get a full five days of 2-hour delay schedules because I'm a senior and everyone else is taking some standardized test all week. But there's some stupid construction going on so they're postponing the tests/the 2-hour delay schedule until it's done. Which means I don't get as much time to write as I thought I was going to next week, and I have a swim meet this weekend. Essentially, I tried to push this chapter out cuz I knew i might not get the next one out until i little bit later. :(( I knew I shouldn't have let you guys get accustomed to speedy updates. Damn.


	6. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din recounts his story to Leia, Han, and Sabine. Eventually, and after much convincing, he makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEYEE I'm back beaches. I didn't leave, but whatever. 
> 
> Shorter chapter today, but there isn't a whole lot of action at this point. Just LOTS of dialogue. And Clone Wars stuff! And Rebels... and Legends... but whatever.
> 
> ALERT: WE'RE PAST THE 20K WORD BENCHMARK WOOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> also... 3PO!!
> 
> At time of posting... i have 1999 hits *sad face* why can't it be an even number :((((

Din’s throat was sore when he was done talking. He had explained almost everything that had happened to him from taking the original bounty that led him across Grogu up until that very moment, carefully answered all the questions Sabine had shot at him before he had started and was careful to not mention Mayfeld’s true identity. He did not give the name of the Jedi who took Grogu, or even mention the child by name, but he had seen Han and Leia exchange a glance, nevertheless. Obviously, he couldn’t properly explain his story without the child, but he didn’t want to give them too much information if it ever fell to the wrong ears. The only person he mentioned by name was Ahsoka, but only because Sabine clearly knew who it was when Din mentioned a Togruta Jedi.

“…then I ran into Solo on the beach… and you know the rest.” Din looked up at the group watching him. Chewbacca had let out a guttural moan of grief after hearing of Brommo’s fate, and Din felt a twinge of guilt for not trying to do more as he saw the Wookie wringing his massive paws.

Sabine had her helmet between her feet, and she crouched, hands twisted in thought. Her brow was knitted, and she almost tipped over multiple times as the troop carrier shuddered beneath them. “Gideon took the darksaber from Bo-Katan?” she finally asked, voice quiet.

“I don’t know,” Din said. “But I think that’s what happened.” Sabine nodded, deep in thought.

“Did you say a Jedi took your kid?” Solo piped up. He had been waiting to ask this question for a while, Din could tell, and he nodded wordlessly. “Do you know what his name was?” Solo asked sharply.

Din paused, not sure if he should answer. He honestly had no idea if he could trust Solo and Leia. Did the New Republic still target Jedi? He knew there had been a genocide, just like the Mandalorians.

“Was his name Luke Skywalker?” Leia asked, her arms crossed tightly.

Din blinked. “I… how did you know?” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for both Solo and Leia to grin widely, and Chewbacca to rumble happily.

Solo ran a hand through his hair. “And the kid you mentioned… That means you’re Grogu’s father, right?” he asked, still smiling.

Din’s jaw dropped a little. “…yes.” He exchanged a glance with Mayfeld, who shook his head, surprised. Sabine’s eyebrow was cocked. “Do you know him? Luke Skywalker?”

Solo full-out laughed. Leia dropped into a seat. “Luke’s my brother,” she said. “He told me about you. Aren’t you a Mandalorian?”

“… yes.” Din managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. He didn’t really know what to say next, but he thankfully didn’t need to think much about it. The troop carrier finally stopped at the same port they had left from. They all climbed out onto the powdery sand, shielding their eyes as sunlight threatened to blind them as it reflected off the jewel-bright water.

“Come on, pal.” Solo gestured Din and Mayfeld towards a run-down light freighter. “You’re sticking with us for now.” He exchanged a word with Leia, and she and Chewbacca trundled off to go speak to a tall Wookie woman with extravagant accessories. “You coming?” Din looked up as Solo addressed Sabine.

She fidgeted uncomfortably. She opened her mouth, shifting her helmet between her hands. She looked at Din and approached him, and Solo backed off towards his ship. “What is your plan?”

“My… plan?” he asked, confused.

“For the darksaber. Will you wield it and reunite Mandalore?” Her gaze was hard and unyielding.

Din’s stomach did a few backflips. It was a yes or no question that he didn’t have an answer to. “I don’t know,” he replied, almost in a whisper, desperately trying to avoid her eyes.

“You’re still considering?” she asked, eyebrow twitching. “After three years?”

Din swallowed. He _was_ still considering. Or was he? Was he trying to find excuses to not do it, or could he legitimately not? In his three years of saying he would find a Mandalorian to give the saber to, had he actively made that effort? Had he not figured an entire structure of government that would work given the current Mandalorian status of being scattered across the galaxy? At finding out he would be meeting a New Republic senator, had he not perked up at the idea of getting help in rebuilding his planet? Had he not just suppressed his thoughts and ideas for a new Mandalore just because he didn’t want to seem as power-hungry as he thought Bo-Katan was?

Sabine’s mouth twitched as he stared at her in thought. “I think that’s as close to a yes as I’m going to get.”

“What?” Din’s voice had gone up an octave. He turned to Mayfeld, who was just smirking. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

“Come on, then,” Sabine said, smiling bigger, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards Solo’s light freighter. “I go where you go. Or vice versa.”

“I’m assuming you won’t take it, then?” Din grumbled.

Sabine openly laughed. “Absolutely not. You’ve got nothing on my familial trauma.”

Still limping and with Mayfeld fluttering around him like a worried housewife, Din made his way up the ramp to Solo’s ship. It already had a homey feel to it, and as Solo was rattling around, Leia and Chewbacca entered, and the ramp closed. A gold protocol droid trotted in with calls of “Welcome aboard the _Millennium Falcon_! I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations. Please let me know if you need any assistance!” then tottered away again to do… whatever droids did.

They made their way into a lounge-like area and Din sat down gratefully. Mayfeld and Sabine plopped down as well, and Leia joined them a few moments later. “So, explain to me what exactly the darksaber means, and why this other Mandalorian wants it so badly?”

Thankfully, Sabine spoke up before Din could. “It’s a symbol of Mandalorian leadership. Whoever wields it considered the strongest and is worthy to lead as Mand’alor. Bo-Katan Kryze used to have it, but she lost it, apparently,” Sabine finished bitterly. “Why she didn’t tell me is a different story, but she wants it back to reunite Mandalore.”

“Reunite?” Solo asked as he joined them, offering them all drinks. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Mandalore was glassed before the end of the Empire, over ten years ago. Just after Yavin,” Sabine said. “The Mandalorians fled our planet, and now we’re all scattered across the galaxy.”

“Glassed?” Solo asked.

Mayfeld spoke up. “It’s considered a more humane way to destroy a planet than nuclear warfare. They didn’t have the Death Star to destroy planets, so they used to fire on the planet until the surface was destroyed. They say it looks like glass afterwards.”

Sabine nodded sadly in confirmation. “I’ve only been back once. The Empire rebuilt Sundari, the capitol, but it’s overrun by Imps. I think that’s where the big bads have been hiding. Maybe Gideon, too.”

“How would a Mandalorian get the saber?” Leia asked.

“You have to physically overpower the previous owner,” Din said. Sabine made a small noise, sounding like she wanted to correct him.

Din looked at her sharply. She held up her hands placatingly. “I’m just saying that’s not always how it goes.”

“Well, Bo-Katan is convinced it is,” he shot back. “I tried to give it to her. She wouldn’t take it.”

“She wouldn’t?” Sabine asked, clearly shocked. “Well, that doesn’t make sense. She took it from me.” Seeing Din’s shocked look, she elaborated. “I _gave_ it to her. She didn’t physically beat me.”

“You _had_ the saber?”

“I stole it.” Sabine’s lips twisted as Din’s eyes widened. “There’s a whole story behind it.”

“Explain, then,” Din said, trying not to sound too demanding.

Sabine sighed. “Fine.” She breathed and let it out forcefully. “During the Clone Wars, there was a pacifist regime led by Bo-Katan’s sister, Satine, and it came into supreme power on Mandalore. A group of traditionalist terrorists called Death Watch wanted to overthrow her and take back the planet to reinstate the old Mandalorian ‘burn and raid’ way, but they were exiled to Concordia because they were seen as too dangerous. Bo-Katan worked with Pre Vizsla as Death Watch leaders, and they partnered with a Sith Lord named Maul and the Empire to stage a coup and overthrow Satine. Maul challenged Vizsla for the saber, Maul won and killed Vizsla, took the saber, and Bo-Katan fled and formed the Nite Owls because some of the Watch didn’t consider Maul to be a rightful ruler since he was an outsider.” Sabine took a deep breath and rattled off again. “After the Clone Wars and before the fall of the Empire, I found the darksaber in Maul’s possession on Dathomir, stole it, and ran off with a couple Jedi and some other rebels. I found Bo-Katan, gave her the darksaber ‘cos I have too many issues to be Mand’alor, she tried to reunite the Mandalorians, but then the Empire took control of Mandalore, the Great Purge happened and Mandalore was glassed. And then… I don’t know. Gideon somehow got the saber, Bo-Katan didn’t tell me, Djarin over here tried to help her get it back, won it instead of her, blah blah blah.”

Din blinked stupidly. “That’s…”

“Really vague, I know,” Sabine said, slightly out of breath. “You probably know more than I do.”

“No,” Din corrected her quickly. “I had no idea about any of this. I’ve never even been to Mandalore.”

“Oh,” Sabine clapped herself on the forehead. “I forgot you used to be in the Children of the Watch. What, did they tell you it’s cursed?”

“What’s the Children of the Watch?” Leia asked, hands up, as Din nodded in response to Sabine’s question.

Sabine gestured to Din, and he did his best to answer. “It’s a group of Mandalorians that were… exiled, I think. According to Bo-Katan, t’s a religious cult filled with zealots. They took me in and raised me as a Foundling, one of their own. I didn’t know it was a cult until a few years ago, and then I left.”

Sabine nodded encouragingly. “The Children of the Watch were exiled along with Death Watch, but it’s another splinter that follows a much stricter interpretation of the Way and want to go back to what’s effectively militarism as a system of Mandalorian government.”

“You don’t still believe any of that, do you?” Solo asked warily. “I mean, this sounds like terrorism, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Din said, maybe a bit too loudly. He fully understood the Tribe had lied to him, but even then, how many other Foundlings in the covert had no idea they were being trained for a militaristic government? He turned back to Sabine, almost dreading the answer to his next question. “Did you say Bo-Katan was in Death Watch? She wanted a… a terrorist government?”

Sabine was silent for a few moments. “I… yes. She was.”

Din leaned back in his chair and stared at the floor. No wonder she had seemed totalitarian. She had been a terrorist. He remembered what Gideon had said last night. _Monarchies are harder to destabilize than democracies. Any system of government she sets up will be difficult for the Empire to take down, especially compared to what you might do_. He hadn’t really thought of the moff’s words up until that point, but now they made much more sense. Assuming Gideon was right, and Din was going to take his word for it that he was indeed always right, Bo-Katan, if she were to take the darksaber and reunite Mandalore, would seat herself on the throne of the planet and make herself sole and supreme leader. Monarchy, quickly turning into an empire if she continued on with Death Watch’s ideology of galaxy-wide domination and raiding. The Galactic Civil War all over again.

“Don’t think too harshly of her,” Sabine said, voice so low she was almost whispering.

Mayfeld raised his hands in pseudo-surrender. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but Bo-Katan Kryze wants to make Mandalore a planet full of terrorists?”

Din shot Mayfeld a scathing look, but then took in his words…

“I didn’t understand,” Sabine protested, and Din was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “I was young and naïve and didn’t understand what she wanted to do. I wanted to trust her, but I didn’t realize she hadn’t really ever left Death Watch behind.” Sabine sniffled loudly. “I get it now, why she didn’t tell me she lost it. I’ve been so busy looking for Ezra, I neglected my planet. She knew I wouldn’t support whatever she’s doing.”

Solo darted forward and laid a hand on Sabine’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not actually that bad, right?” He turned to Leia for support, but she shook her head.

“No. Terrorism is not something I will take lightly, especially so soon after the war has ended.” Leia turned to Din. “There is only one way to deal with this. Are you committed to leading Mandalore?”

Din stared at her. “Am I really any better than her if I say yes?” He didn’t want to be power-hungry like Bo-Katan. If he took this mantle, how was he any different from her?

“Yes!” Leia stepped forward and Din was momentarily shocked by her aggressiveness. “Yes, you are. Having power doesn’t make you automatically corrupt. Look at my brother – one of the only Jedi left in the galaxy, and he’s never used his strength for evil. I haven’t even known you for a full day, and I would already trust you with my life. I already have.”

“Listen, pal,” Solo said, his hand still on Sabine’s shoulder. “It’s pretty hard to unintentionally create a planet full of terrorists. If you make a single attempt at good leadership, it’s good enough for me.” Chewbacca rumbled in confirmation.

“And me,” Leia said. “And I speak for the entire Republic when I say that.”

Din twisted his hands together. “I…”

“You have my loyalty, _vode_ ,” Sabine said, her voice sounding a bit nasally.

There was silence for a bit, then Mayfeld spoke up. “Yeah, I know my confidence doesn’t really have any weight here, but if it means anything, I trust you more than I trust… well, a lot of people.” He shifted awkwardly as Din turned to look at him, slightly amused. “I dunno, just felt like I had to say something…” Mayfeld muttered. Everyone was staring at him. “Everyone else said something!” He looked around for a show of support, and Din felt his heart lose a few pounds. “…I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?”

“Yep,” Solo said flatly. There was a ripple of laughter around the ship lounge.

“So, it that a yes?” Leia turned back to Din. “Will you take back Mandalore? You’ll have the support the New Republic if I have anything to say about it.”

Din looked at her long and hard. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I’ll help.”

“I have no idea where any other Mandalorians are.”

“We’ll find them.”

“Bo-Katan would never allow-“

“We’ll deal with those problems as we come,” Leia assured him, smirking.

“…I don’t have my armor.”

“Now you’re just grasping for straws,” Sabine smiled weakly. “You said your friend had it.”

“I’m _assuming_ she has it…” Din grumbled, then looked back at Leia. “Does it mean anything to you that I never intended to get here, like this?”

“I don’t think that says anything bad about your leadership qualities,” Leia said comfortingly. “Those who are best suited to power are those that never seek it.”

“What freaky old guru told you that?” Solo snorted.

Leia huffed and crossed her arms in faux annoyance. “It was in a piece of literature, I’ll have you know, Han. Not that you’ve ever picked up a record in your life,” she said quietly.

But Din’s mind was not on Leia and Han’s bickering… he was thinking of Bo-Katan. Bo-Katan wanted to reunite the Mandalorians, didn’t she? Even if she was dangerous, she could still be helpful in bringing them together… She may be power-hungry, but the Din could think of several ways to placate her without too much of a mess.

“I’ll do it,” Din said, before he had even really decided on saying it. “But I decide what to do about Bo-Katan.” He looked up at Leia, and the look she was giving him was slightly dangerous. “I’ll take your advice, but I think blocking her will only make her worse.” Leia was silent for a few seconds. “And-” Din started before his nerves got the best of him. “I don’t want Mandalore to be a planet under New Republic jurisdiction. I’ll accept as much of your help as I can, but I’ll never get other Mandalorians to return if we risk falling under a higher power again. No more purges.”

“I agree,” Sabine said, grinning at Din through damp eyes. “Us Mandalorians are proud. I can’t imagine many would like it if the Republic’s butting in all the time. No offense,” she added to Leia, who smiled slightly and shook her head, amused.

“All right, then,” she said, and held out her hand to Din, and he shook it. Solo grinned and rubbed his hands together. Chewbacca gurgled loudly and Mayfeld clapped Din on the shoulder.

“Where to first, then, boss?” Solo asked, darting around the lounge again, collecting supplies and electronics.

Din bit back a comment, then considered the question. He could get his armor first, assuming Cara had it on Nevarro, or start finding other Mandalorians. And Din knew exactly where to start.

“Tatooine, then Nevarro,” he said. “I want to find Boba Fett first.”

“ _What_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently rewatching the original trilogy just to get a better sense of these characters. I felt like my interpretation and characterization of Han wasn't the absolute best it could have been, so i was all like "BACK TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT". Anyways, if Han and Leia seem OOC just know it's going to get better. If Sabine seems OOC, oh well. I have no idea what she's like. I'm looking forward to getting into more of her personality in later chapters... It's def coming along.
> 
> Next up: the Boba v. Han showdown. (WOOOOOT) And less dialogue (jeeeeez it's a pain sometimes)


	7. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din manages to convince Solo to fly him to Tatooine. He has a strange dream, and Bob and Han finally get their showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh I'm early, aren't I. I should start scheduling better... oh well. 
> 
> We're getting shorter! 3273 is our final wordcount! My rough draft was 2700 something, though. Is that good or bad? I guess we'll never know... mwahaha.
> 
> Also... don't freak out but I changed the summary of the fic. It's more specific. Yay.
> 
> BERNIE SANDERS MEMES ARE RUINING ME AAAAAAAAA

“Nuh-uh,” Solo huffed stubbornly. “No. No way. Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Han,” Leia pushed.

“No!” he screeched. “I’m not intentionally putting myself in front of that bleeding bounty hunter _willingly_. He should have died in that sarlaac pit.”

Chewbacca huffed in agreement, but Din stepped in. “Bounty hunters are only dangerous if they’re targeting you.”

“Boba Fett is always targeting me,” Solo pouted.

Leia rolled her eyes. “No, he’s not. You’re a New Republic general. Your ISB and Republic bounties have been cleared.”

“It’s a personal agenda,” Solo retorted stubbornly. “He has it in for me.”

“Wait,” Mayfeld interjected. “He had a bounty on you?” A grin spread across his face. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Solo howled at the same time Leia said, “He used to be a smuggler who got on Jabba’s bad side.”

“Okay, so I owed him a lot of money, whatever, it’s not my fault,” Solo grumbled. “And then Vader got all over our ass.”

“He was only after us because of Luke,” Leia said, her face hardening a bit. “Boba Fett just picked up both bounties. Now,” she said, getting to business, “Last I heard, he’s in Jabba’s palace. I got information from someone in the Republic that he’s killed Bib Fortuna and taken it over for himself…”

Din couldn’t help but appreciate Boba’s resourcefulness as Leia discussed. Picking up two bounties on the same person was something most hunters tried to do, but one as big as to get it from both Jabba, who Din himself had picked up a few bounties from, and someone else Din assumed was an Imperial officer of some kind? Even Din had never taken a _real_ Imperial bounty other than Grogu, which he hadn’t so much as taken as he did sabotage. Whoever this Vader was, Din admired Boba for his gutsiness.

“…wait, Jabba the Hutt?” The name combined with Solo’s rang a bell in Din’s memory. “I think I was offered your bounty from him.”

Solo spun on him. “You were a bounty hunter, too?” He looked as if he was about to have a breakdown.

Din raised an eyebrow placatingly. “I already told you that.”

Solo’s eyes narrowed. “…Why didn’t you take my bounty?”  
“You were popular,” Din shrugged. “Popular bounties always make for so much mess.” Solo pouted, and Din could easily see that Solo wasn’t at least a little bit proud of being called a popular bounty. “And,” he butted in before Solo could start complaining about Boba again, “I’ll make sure there’s no extensive damage.”

“What about no damage, period?” Leia smiled.

“I make no promises,” Din replied, his lips also twitching upwards.

There was a little ripple of laughter. Leia insisted they all get some rest after the events of that day, and that they would leave for Tatooine in the morning. She and Han retreated to a separate area of the ship, and Chewbacca pulled out several extra cots and blankets for Mayfeld, Din, and Sabine before retreating to his own bunk.

Din, after removing his stabilizing wrist wrappings attempted to clumsily numb it with the extra medpack on board. He managed to fall asleep despite the throbbing pain in his ribs, surrounded by Mayfeld’s familiar snores, magnified a bit by the size of the different ship. Din felt a little pang for the crashed _Arrow Trail_ , then a bigger one as he remembered all his belongings he had lost on the _Razor Crest_. Gently thumbing the little control ball hung around his neck, he fell asleep thinking of Grogu, and how much he wished the kid knew he missed him.

He fell into a dream while he slept. Not a nightmare, but not really a dream, either. It was more like reliving a memory he didn’t remember or didn’t have.

He was in a large building, looking up to the other occupants. There was a little boy there, with dark hair happily dancing around a man who watched them in amusement. They both looked so very tall, and the little boy was yelling something incomprehensible, gleefully prancing in circles around the adult’s feet. The man was saying something, grinning as the astromech droid whirred around, supposedly beeping.

The man leaned down and picked up whoever Din was sharing a dream, or consciousness with. He was suddenly much taller, looking down at the little boy as he grinned with a mouth that was missing a few teeth. The sound was muffled, as if the connection between Din and the other consciousness was weak.

Then the dream shifted… he was being carried away from a burning settlement by strong arms, blue armor reflecting sunlight and firelight. The scene changed again, but the same arms held Din close, for it was Din this time, not the other consciousness. Those arms remained as the scene changed again and again, constant in a swirl of chaos… And then they fell away.

Din woke up after what felt like ten seconds, and light was already streaming in through the window into the ship, where it had been twilight the last time he looked. He must have been more exhausted than he realized. And the dream… there was only one explanation. Somehow Grogu, from halfway across the galaxy had known. He had known Din was thinking about him. The man in the dream must have been Luke, and the little boy… another child Luke was training? Din let the connection fill him up and rejuvenate him. And the second dream… he pushed it aside. He knew exactly what that had been. His own mind must have slipped from Grogu’s and fallen into memories of his own father, his _buir_. That was all he was now. A memory. Din tried to focus his mind on something else before they overwhelmed him again.

Well, he tried. Solo came barging in, clomping around. Sabine started awake and sat straight up, and Mayfeld pulled his blanket over his head. “Wake up, sleepyheads! To Tatooine we go!” Solo finished off his exclamation with a bitter edge to his voice, to which Din raised an eyebrow.

“Why does Boba _actually_ have it in for you?” he asked as he bundled up his cot and blankets, always an early riser.

Solo grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. Well… I may have accidentally pushed him into a sarlaac pit.”

Mayfeld sat up from under his covers. “Damn,” he whistled. “How do you do that on accident?”

Solo raised his hands in surrender. “I had hibernation sickness! I was in carbonite for six months thanks to him! I don’t know… I couldn’t see anything, so Chewie told me he was behind me, and I turned around, and I think I pushed him in.”

Din winced, both for Solo and for Boba. Sleeping in carbonite for six months couldn’t be fun, he knew. Many of his own bounties got sick after just a few days. And Boba… well that explained the abhorrent scarring on his face. Din wondered how long he had been in the sarlaac pit… Getting Boba to work with Solo might actually be harder than he thought.

Sabine yawned loudly, her arms stretching out. Her armor lay in a neat little pile beside her, and as Leia entered, pulling open drawers and grabbing protein loaves and Bantha milk, Sabine carefully attached every part.

“So, how are we doing this? We know Boba Fett is on Tatooine, and probably in Jabba’s palace, right?” Mayfeld asked. “If Boba’s really that touchy, maybe it’s better if just Djarin, Sabine, and I go.”

“There’s no point avoiding contact,” Leia said. “They’re _both_ ,” she eyed Solo, “going to have to get over personal grudges if Din wants to do this right.”

Din shrugged apologetically at Solo.

Solo pointed at him, his face paler than usual. “He shoots me and it’s on your head.”

“Han,” Leia reprimanded. “I just wish there was a way for us to get close enough for him to realize we’re there,” she said, almost to herself.

“How is that a good thing?” Solo squeaked. “What if we don’t want him to know?”

“We don’t want to surprise him,” Leia corrected. “We want him to know we come peacefully, but I remember that the only way we could get a message inside last time was with droids.”

Chewbacca roared loudly, and Din translated: _There is no way 3PO would go back inside Jabba’s palace without R2. He wouldn’t last time._

“More like R2 wouldn’t go without 3PO.” Leia turned over her shoulder. “3PO! Come here, please!”

The golden protocol droid rattled into the lounge. “Yes, princess?” he asked pleasantly. Mayfeld shot Din a glance that he ignored with practiced ease.

“Do you remember how to get into Jabba’s palace on Tatooine?” Leia asked gently.

“Oh, yes,” the droid shuddered. “I don’t wish to do it again, princess. That Jabba was a monstrous creature.”

“Jabba’s dead,” Solo interrupted. “It’s Boba Fett we need to get to this time.”

“Oh, no!” the droid wailed. “That’s much worse, Captain Solo! I will be stripped down for parts! Or melted down! Or tossed into the sarlaac pit! Or… or…” The droid acted like it was having a break down as Chewbacca grumbled something and dragged the droid of the room, still crying apparent obscenities.

“Yeah, that won’t work,” Leia said, pinching her nose. “Looks like we’ll just have to go in ourselves.”

Solo let out a whining noise as Leia ordered him to get the ship ready for takeoff. Din fixed his cape over his shoulders after he settled for a short-sleeved shirt appropriate for Tatooine’s climate and holstered all his weapons. He saw Sabine’s eyes graze the darksaber as he sheathed it underneath his cape and sat on a more stable seat as the ship zoomed into hyperspace. Mayfeld yawned as they sat in silence.

He almost drifted off again before they landed on Tatooine, but the jolt of landing in Mos Eisley snapped him back awake. They crew trundled off the _Falcon_ , and Din had a foolish, fleeting thought to go visit Peli. He knew she would be around here somewhere… but they hadn’t landed in hangar 3-5, where he knew she worked, and he figured she wouldn’t recognize him without his helmet. He thought he might have seen a flash of curly brown hair and a slightly annoying voice echoing, and he wondered how close they had landed to her hangar.

The group of six (or seven, including the droid) started making their way towards Jabba’s palace, with Solo leading the way. He had warned them it was a long walk, and everyone pulled up some kind of face protection from the sand, Din hoping it wouldn’t get into his hair. He had never had this issue with his helmet. Sabine was smart and was already wearing her own helmet.

They slipped and trudged through the endless dunes as the sun rose overhead, threatening to curse them with heat exhaustion. Din used the scarlet scarf-like material of his cape to wipe away his sweat, brushing his hair away from his face. Thankfully the wind wasn’t too rough, but the thin material of his cape made it billow out behind him enough to be annoyingly tight around his neck and face. This wouldn’t have been a problem with his armor, he grumbled to himself.

“Up there!” Solo finally called from the front of the group. Din squinted through the sun and saw a large cylindrical building, protected by several ridges, with a little glint of _something_ he couldn’t place… “That’s maybe a-“  
“Watch out!” Din yelled. Just in time, Solo ducked and avoided a heavy blaster shot, and it exploded in the sand feet from them. Din grinned to himself, glad he had seen her. “Wait here,” he said, and stood up.

“What are you…” Leia said, but he held out a hand. Mayfeld let out a little sound of understanding from behind him.

He stumbled over the dune they had crouched behind and felt the sand give a little as he stepped down. Shielding his eyes and pulling down his face covering, he looked up at the ridge and waved. The glimmer paused, then yelled something incomprehensible.

Mayfeld stumbled up behind him. “Gotta love her, right?” he said, grinning and waving as well.

“You crazy sons of bitches!” came a clearer yell. Din chuckled.

“Who is it?” Han asked, standing up behind them.

“Fennec Shand,” Din called back. “She’s a brilliant shooter. Works with Boba.”

They started making their way back up the dune, all the way up to the heavy front doors, opened wide. There waited Fennec, rifle slung across her back, hands on her hips.

“You’re a lucky man, Mando,” she said, smirking as she and Din clasped arms. “Boba saw the _Falcon_ docking in Mos Eisley, told me to shoot on sight. Didn’t expect to see _you._ I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“You recognized me, though, right?” Mayfeld butted in.

Fennec’s eyes widened. “I thought you died!” she gasped sarcastically.

Mayfeld’s face fell, throwing his hands up in the air as Fennec and Din chuckled. “He already made that joke,” he grumbled, throwing a haphazard point at Din.

“It’s a good joke,” Fennec shrugged. She then turned to the rest of the crew, her gaze flicking back to Din for a split second after laying eyes on Sabine. They exchanged a look, and Fennec’s lips twisted a bit. “Boba’s not going to like bringing Solo in,” she said, voice low to Din after pulling him aside. “I swear, he never shuts up about him.”

“I need him,” Din whispered back. “I need both of them.” Fennec gave him a meaningful look, and he rolled his eyes.

“Does that mean you’ve decided to do it? Reunite Mandalore?” she asked. Din was silent, then nodded. Fennec’s face broke into a full smile, eyes glinting a little maliciously. “Oh, I think _that_ will get Boba to change his mind.”

She turned back to the entire group, then waved them inside. Fennec descended a set of stairs, and Din briefly heard C-3PO worrying and Chewbacca grumbling. Leia, Solo, and Sabine were silent as Mayfeld and Fennec caught up with each other in casual tones that did not match the nervous air of the rest of the group. Leia gestured something to Solo, and Din thought he saw him hand over his blaster to his wife.

They made their way into what Din assumed was a throne room, and, thankful he was one of the first people in the room, saw Boba standing there in an attack stance, completely alone. Din opened his mouth to greet him, but Boba interrupted.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Boba growled as Han entered the room, hiding behind Leia.

“H-hey, Boba!” Solo squeaked. “I like what you’ve done with the place!”

Boba snarled and drew his blaster. Fennec darted forward and stood in front of them. “Come on, Boba,” she mediated. “Listen,” she said, turning back Din and gesturing him forward. “He needs your help.”

“I accept payment in the form of Solo’s head,” Boba growled, his blaster still raised. “And I’m your boss, you don’t protect him if I tell you to shoot him!”

Fennec snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m your partner, and he’s,” she pointed to Din with her chin, “your boss now.”

“It’s looking really nice, pal!” Solo called from behind Leia. “Your armor, too! Did you get a paint job?”

Boba started forward, and Fennec just barely managed to hold him back. Din turned back to Solo and glared at him. “Stop talking,” he ordered. “You’re making this worse.” He turned back to Boba. “I need him alive.”

“How come?” Boba asked sarcastically.

Fennec, still struggling to pull down Boba’s firing arm, shot a glare at Din. “Tell him!”

“Tell me what?”

Din sighed and reached behind him. Unclasping the darksaber, he held it in his hand, showing it to Boba. “Leia here has agreed to asking the New Republic for additional help, but she probably won’t help me if you kill her husband,” he said in a low voice.

The other Mandalorian paused, then lowered his arm. Fennec carefully let go.

Boba didn’t move again, but just kept looking at Din. “Why are you here?”

“I need your help as well,” Din said.

Sabine stepped forward. “You are Mandalorian, aren’t you? You wear the armor.”

Boba looked Sabine up and down. “This armor belonged to my father,” he said simply.

“And my armor belonged to my grandmother. I am a Mandalorian,” she said, stepping forward. “Are you?”

Boba bristled. “You sound like Bo-Katan Kryze. I am not less than you.”

Din winced, but Sabine stood strong. “I don’t think any less of you because you are a clone. It only matters if you consider yourself Mandalorian. You have a duty to your planet, and to him,” she said, gesturing to Din.

He heard Solo muttering something to Leia: “Was anyone going to tell me he’s a clone, or was I just supposed to figure it out myself?”. Din ignored him.

He stepped forward, replacing the darksaber behind his cape again. “Will you help us or not? We’ll need support from all the Mandalorians we can find, or this is all going to be for nothing.”

Boba turned his gaze to Din and spoke again after a long pause. “If I help you, I want equal protection.”

“Everyone has to answer for crimes,” Din quipped back.

“I’m not talking about crimes,” Boba replied. “I meant from people like Kryze. She wouldn’t have me step foot on Mandalore if she could help it.”

Boba was right, Din thought. If Bo-Katan wanted to be picky, so be it, but Din didn’t have that luxury, even if he had a problem with Boba calling himself a Mandalorian.

“She is not Mand’alor,” Sabine interjected. “It doesn’t matter what she would have.”

“And,” Boba continued before Din could reply, completely ignoring Sabine. “If Solo pushes me in another sarlaac pit, promise me you’ll push him in after me.”

“That was an accident!” Solo protested.

Din made a tiny gesture to silence him. “It’s a deal,” he said, his lips twitching as Solo squirmed uncomfortably.

Boba was still glaring daggers at Solo as he took his helmet off (Solo winced audibly) and clasped arms with Din. “You have my allegiance, then.” The tension in the room leaked out almost instantly.

Fennec breathed a sigh of relief. “Who wants drinks?” she forced out.

Din looked around the room for the first time as Boba retreated and the rest of the group was free to leave the confines of the staircase. There were no dancers or singers or scantily clad prisoners in the room as there had been when Jabba ran the place, but the decoration was still about the same. The cage that held the rancor had been evacuated, and Din had no idea what Boba held down there now. The only similar thing other than the decorations was a single carbonite-encased person near the back of the room…

Approaching it, it wasn’t hard for Din to recognize who it was. “Really, Boba?” he grumbled, pointing to the hibernating Cobb Vanth as Boba smirked and shrugged.

“I’ll let him out for you, boss.”

Din just sighed.

Boba sniggered, then changed the subject. “Do you plan on finding your armor anytime soon?”

Din shuffled. “I don’t know where it is. I think-”

“Cara has it,” Fennec called. “She had it when we flew her back to Nevarro. I haven’t seen her since.”

Boba raised an eyebrow at Din. “Lovely lady, Miss Dune.”

Din just glared at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something tells me y'all were expecting something much more climactic than this... ah well. 
> 
> Next up: NEVARRO WHOOOOOOO ARMOR WHOOOOOOOO CARA WHOOOOOOO
> 
> also I hope y'all enjoy the little Grogu moment i put in here... along with the *tiniest* amount of foreshadowing.


	8. The Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the team makes their way back to Nevarro, Din is wary of the Empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID YOU KNOW THEY MAKE LEFT-HANDED NOTEBOOKS AND THE HOLES ARE ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE SPIRAL???? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS INFORMATION. AAAAAAAAAAAA.
> 
> Anyways, I must first apologize for my break, but I have a perfectly good excuse. I went online for school for last thursday and friday because a lot of teachers at my school had to quarantine, and I have a very bad habit of not getting any work done when I'm doing online school. Obviously this progressed into me on TikTok for multiple hours every day, and my fyp has turned into that of a complete and utter NERD (as expected). A bit of backstory, I watched the anime Attack on Titan a few years ago, but I didn't get past the first season and a half, so when my fyp was suddenly filled with the new (and last) season of AoT, I of course was confused and intrigued. Basically, I spend the last three days binging the first season again so I can hopefully catch up before the last season ends. Yep. That's my excuse.

“Whass’goin’on?” Vanth slurred as Din helped lower him to the ground with Fennec. “Whoo’sat?”

“Take it easy,” Din grunted as he plopped back down. He groaned inside as his partially uncovered hands were drenched in Vanth’s sweat. “How long has he been in here?” he glared at Boba.

“Couple months,” he shrugged.

Din resisted the urge to strangle him. “Why?” was all he could choke out. He really had no idea why he was so angry. Really, he should have suspected Boba might try and take revenge on Vanth, who was curled up in a ball and shaking with a fever, blind eyes flicking around eerily.

Boba must have sensed that Din was angry, because he shrugged off the question and was a bit more tense from that moment on. “Return him to Mos Pelgo first,” Din grumbled. “Then Nevarro.”

Sabine hummed. “I can go with them. We’ll meet you there.” Din nodded.

Vanth perked up. “Mando? ‘Sat you?”

Din didn’t answer.

“Helooooo?” Vanth slurred. “Anybody home? ‘M just assuming it’s that Mando in here.” His head dropped and he grinned drunkenly.

Fennec sniggered. “I take it you’ve met him?” she muttered to Din.

His lips twisted and he nodded in response. “I had gotten some intel that there was a Mandalorian in Mos Pelgo, but it turned out to be him. Wouldn’t give me the armor unless I helped the town out with a little issue.”

“Little?” Vanth shrieked. “That krayt dragon w’s biiiiig. The pieces w’re small, though,” he giggled.

Fennec raised a knowing eyebrow. Din just flicked his hands as if warding off the oncoming judgement or appraisal. He wasn’t really in the mood.

Boba had been so kind as to offer to fly them back to Mos Eisley (that was a lie – Fennec had convinced him at playful gunpoint), and Din watched as Sabine boarded with them and the _Slave_ departed outside the city limits off towards the horizon.

As they made their way into the hangar where the ship was docked, Din felt a nervous buzz in his stomach, and a feeling like he was being watched. He looked around for the source, and Leia too spun on the spot. They exchanged a glance. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured. “I felt it, too.”

Din didn’t really know what she was talking about by _feeling_ it, but they warily boarded the ship, nonetheless.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.

They couldn’t leave Mos Eisley fast enough. As the _Falcon_ took off, Din stared at the wall. The feeling wouldn’t leave.

As the ship bumped into hyperspace, the feeling grew stronger. Leia started pacing, then rounded on Din. “You’re sure we can trust this friend of yours?”

Din blanched. “I’d bet my life on her.”

Leia narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey,” Solo said as he trotted in and wrapped an arm around her. “Relax. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Was it, though? Din couldn’t help but feel that something was indeed going to go very wrong. What was the worst that could happen, though? He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of those thoughts. They weren’t worth dwelling on.

Everyone sat in nervous silence, Din’s leg jumping in time with the thrums of the engine. It felt like years before they exited hyperspace, looking down on the red-cracked planet. Din realized he had been so occupied with his increasing feelings of foreboding; he had forgotten about seeing Cara again. His feelings started spiraling chaotically as he thought about what she would do. Would she be angry with him? Would she be glad to see him? Did she even still have his armor? Maybe she had lost it in the last three years? His stomach plummeted as a terrible thought rose in his brain. Was she even still alive?

“Hey,” Mayfeld nudged him with his elbow. “It’ll be fine.”

“Hm,” he grunted, careful to not let his concern be seen on his face.

Solo piloted the ship down to the surface of the planet to the city that Din had pointed out. His heart was beating too fast for comfort now. They found their way to the opening of the city, and the sky was dotted with stars and the softest glow lighting originating on the horizon. 

“What a rinky-dink town,” Mayfeld sniffed and looked around. “It’s not even sunrise yet. She might still be sleeping.”

Din didn’t answer as he made his way into the city at the front of the group. Cara probably wouldn’t be sleeping; he knew she was an early riser – she had told her as much herself. His feet led him to where he remembered her little abode had been the last time he had visited the planet three years ago. Little signs pointed towards certain places in the city, and Din full heartedly appreciated the rejuvenation Cara and Greef had brought to the city. He found a little sign pointing him down the road he was already on towards the marshal’s office.

A door banged open on the street before them, and it took a second to realize it was the one he was heading for before a figure hurtled out.

Leia tensed, but Din stepped forward as Cara bolted towards them. She let out a gleeful yell and Din knew what was happening moments before it happened.

“No, Cara, don’t!” he managed to get out before she tackled him. She dragged him to the ground and started jabbing and poking at all his weak spots. He managed to grab her wrist and flipped her over, but she brought a leg behind him and ended up straddling his torso. “Ha! That’s two to zero!” She rose to her feet, pumping the air, but Din grabbed her ankle and she toppled with a yelp.

He stood while she struggled on the ground. “No, it’s one to one,” he panted as she stood over her. “You did _not_ win that arm wrestle. And it’s technically two to zero for me, because you’re on the ground, and I’m not.”

“Well I’m not on the ground anymore,” Cara said as she stood up and turned back to Solo, Leia, and her eyes widened as they landed on Mayfeld. Her mouth broke into a grin. “Back from the dead, huh?”

Mayfeld groaned. “This is all your fault!” he shrieked, waving an accusatory finger at her. “I haven’t heard the end of the dead jokes, and it’s all because of you!”

Cara sniggered, then turned back to Solo and Leia, who let out a little noise of surprise. “Your tear! You’re from Alderaan!”

Cara blinked in surprise, then her stance turned devensive. “I… yeah…?”

“I’m from Alderaan, too!” Leia rushed forward and stood in front of Cara. “I’m Leia.”

Understanding rushed across Cara’s face, then complete and utter shock. “ _Leia_? As in Princess Leia Organa?”

Leia nodded, and Cara jumped back. “Uh… uh,” she stuttered. She shot a look at Din. “Is this you being mean?” she hissed.

Din looked back. “You say that like I had any clue who she is,” he shrugged. “How was I supposed to know?”

Cara rolled her eyes. “ _Gah,_ you’re an idiot.”

“Don’t you think we should find cover?” Solo interrupted. “I don’t like being out in the open.”

“Yes,” Cara started as she found her head again. “Follow me.”

They made their way back to the open door of the marshal’s office, and she introduced herself to Solo and Leia. “Okay, two things,” she said, seating herself behind her desk as Solo and Mayfeld plopped on the floor and Leia took the only other chair in the room. Din remained standing. “First, do you have authorization on that ship, and second, why are you here?”

Everyone in the room looked at Din. He shifted uncomfortably, then spoke. “Gideon escaped.”

Cara’s face fell. “Dank farrik,” she cursed under her breath. “How long ago? Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Two years ago,” Din started, but Leia interjected.

“The Senate decided to keep it quiet. Gideon works off fear, and the best way to enable him is to tell the galaxy he’s on the loose again,” she explained.

“Okay… but why are you _here_?” Cara asked, raising an eyebrow at Din.

He scowled at her. She knew why he was there, and she was being impossible.

“Hey,” she raised her hands in surrender, a small smirk playing on her lips. “I have no idea what you’re asking from me.”

“Oh, boy,” Mayfeld groaned.

Din didn’t say anything. What did she want him to do? Admit he wanted his armor back? Tell her that he wanted her with him? Tell her, that, what, she was his most valuable friend and he couldn’t imagine retaking Mandalore or claiming any kind of leadership without her behind him?

Din opened and closed his mouth like a stupid fish. The words just wouldn’t come out. “I-”

As he was about to speak, however, there was a massive explosion. Din nearly toppled as a shockwave blasted through the open door. “Wha-”

Solo and Mayfeld rushed to go see what the racket was. “Oh, what a load of bantha shit,” Solo grumbled, then turned back to Leia. “They found us. The Empire is here.”

“They tracked you?” Cara yelled over the noise as another explosion rocked the city. Din could see people were waking up and opening their doors to see what was going on.

“I guess,” Solo jumped back. “They aren’t aiming for us, though. It’s like an intimidation tactic. The bombs are falling in open spaces.”

“They’re trying to draw us out,” Din said. “They don’t want to kill us.”

“Yet,” Mayfeld whimpered.

“I have to go help,” Cara said, and darted out the door. Din could hear her urging people back inside their houses, telling them everything was being taken care of.

“Come on!” Leia, Solo, Mayfeld, and Chewbacca all readied their weapons and rushed out the door after Cara.

Din’s feet were rooted to the spot. How was the Empire at Nevarro? Panic was flooding into his veins – how had Gideon known he would go back to Nevarro? How was Din supposed to do _anything_ with Gideon on his back? Anger flooded through body. _No_. Din was done running from the moff. He was done letting Gideon scare him.

He marched out the door and saw the chaos in the little town. There was smoke everywhere, and he couldn’t see more than five feet ahead of him. Little land markers he had known when he had been on the surface before were obscured. He could hear blaster fire as the militia combined with his own group engaged what he assumed to be stromtroopers. There were yells as another bomb exploded outside the city.

Din heard footsteps behind him and drew his blaster. As a stormtrooper emerged from the smoke, Din shot them before they realized Din was there. He wondered if Gideon was up in a cruiser, and for a moment regretted shooting the trooper, but kept moving. He would find another chance.

“Cara!” he called as he raced through the streets. He cursed his stupidity for not opening his mouth sooner to tell her what he really needed. “Cara!”

“Over here!” he heard her call back. He raced over to her, and he saw her helping an elderly lady back into her home.

Din opened the door of the abode as the ground trembled. As the lady scurried back inside, three more stormtroopers emerged, and Din and Cara made quick work of them. Din turned to her. “Cara-”

“I know,” she said, as she turned away and started running back the way they came. “I know,” she repeated, with an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry for antagonizing you. I’ve just been a little angry.”

They raced through town. “I’m sorry for leaving,” he replied in a low voice.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” she snapped. “I get it. Really. I was angry because I thought you had given up on everyone else. Your people. It’s not me you need to apologize to.” They reached the marshal’s office. “But I guess you know what you’re doing now,” she said as she rummaged in her back closet.

“I don’t,” Din shot back at her. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

She just smiled back at him and handed over a massive duffel. “Does anyone?”

“Probably,” he replied as he tentatively took the bag.

“I doubt that,” she grinned as she made her way to the door. “You better hurry up!” she yelled over her shoulder as she readied her heavy blaster rifle and charged. “I’ll get all the troopers before you!”

Din opened the duffel and felt an odd rush as he saw the beskar glint up at him. It was therapeutic, really, putting it on again after all this time. The flight suit was folded neatly, not as he had left it when he took it off in Aq Vetina, and the metal smelled a bit of cleaning alcohol and shone in the artificial light of the office as he examined it. Cara must have polished it recently.

Putting on the armor took longer than taking it off, but years of practice had taught him how to suit up quickly. He was fully aware of every blaster shot and bomb blast as he put every section carefully in place and strapped all his explosives and blasters. Nothing was missing, not even his jetpack, which he carefully swept aside his cape to replace (he had discarded the old brown one that was tucked away in the bag – it was old and tattered, and his red one suited him better anyways). He lowered his helmet over his eyes for the first time in three years and saw one more thing awaiting him in the closet Cara had drawn the bag from. Grabbing the beskar spear that had belonged to Magistrate Elsebeth and given to him by Ahsoka Tano, he marched through the open door and was met by a dozen stormtroopers. Finally, he thought to himself. He was back to normal.

Spinning the spear and firing his blaster in unison, he took out three troopers. Blaster fire pinged uselessly off his armor as he kicked one in the chest and toppled into their comrade. Another three near the back were thrown up in an explosion from Din’s own detonators. Four more.

The remaining troopers fired mercilessly at Din, attempting to strike vital organs that were all protected by invincible beskar. The force of the shots threw Din’s balance momentarily, but he regained his footing and charged. He smashed one in the head with his vambrance, kicked another’s knee in, and hit the third one so hard in the head with the blunt end of the spear that the echo of a snapped neck reverberated loudly. The last stormtrooper cowered as Din advanced, and he grabbed them by the shoulder straps.

“Who is your commanding officer?” The trooper struggled fruitlessly against Din’s grip. “Tell me!” he raised his voice as he shook the trooper. “Is Moff Gideon here on this planet?”

“No!” the trooper squeaked.

Din scowled as he dropped the trooper and fired a clean shot into their back.

He strode away from the fallen troopers towards the largest amount of sound on the outside of the town. He could see clearly from there. About three dozen stormtroopers remained. Din looked up into the sky and saw no control ship. These troopers had come alone on isolated and virtual orders. Whoever was commanding them, and Din knew it was Gideon, was clearly aware that Din would have no qualms killing them on the spot if they showed their face.

Din saw the remaining militia members and his own group, combined with Cara, and now Greef Karga. The old man was croaking orders to the militia members and firing off shots in every direction. Din watched the fighting as he approached on foot. There was no semblance of order; some militia members and stormtroopers had resorted to hand combat as blasters jammed. Those who still had blasters were firing in one direction and kicking troopers on every other side. The stormtroopers were slowly advancing towards the city, outnumbering the Nevarro militia two to one.

Din ignited his jetpack to reach the field. As stormtroopers saw him approaching, they opened fire. Din landed lightly and impaled one trooper and kicked another, firing off shots to the others stupid enough to approach. Wrenching his spear towards him, Din found himself overwhelmed as all the extra troopers charged him.

The others cleaned them up one by one as Din kicked and swung and shot, but he was slammed backwards as an energy blaster was fired at him. His vision went fuzzy as he hit the ground and he saw the red shock trooper advancing with an energy rifle. Din’s helmet had flown off upon contact with the ground, and he felt the impact as the trooper’s rife collided with his unprotected head.

Din curled up on the ground as the trooper advanced and grabbed Din by his front, lifting him slightly off the ground. Din saw his chance and took it. As his back was exposed, he reached behind him and pulled out the darksaber hilt. Holding it front of him, he unsheathed it. The blade expanded right through the trooper’s red armor and they both collapsed on the ground.

Din scrambled out from under the trooper, sheathing the darksaber to do so.

Looking up, the fighting had ended. Stormtroopers were strewn across the ground and militia members helped each other stand. Solo looked as if he was helping an injured Chewbacca to his feet, and nearly everyone else was staring at Din. Getting to his feet, Din reached down and grabbed his helmet but didn’t put it on.

“Are all the troopers in the town gone?” Cara asked as she approached.

“I think so,” Din replied. “I ran into about a dozen, but I took care of them. You might have a few who survived on your hands.”

“Good,” she nodded in approval, then looked him up and down. “I like the red.”

“Mando!” Greef sauntered up to them. “I haven’t seen you in a while!”

Din nodded a bit in greeting. “Greef,” he muttered.

Greef laughed jovially and clapped Din on the shoulder. “Nice face,” he said in a low voice in Din’s ear.

Din just snorted and pulled away. “Gideon’s not here,” he told the approaching group.

“Wait, what?” Greef yelped, and Cara pulled him away to explain.

Solo cursed a bit under his breath. “Hey, though,” he said. “That was some pretty nice action over there.”

Din didn’t reply, but looked up as he saw the _Slave I_ circling above them. Boba, Fennec, and Sabine had finally arrived.

“You missed all the fun!” Mayfeld called as they strode down the ramp.

“Damn,” Fennec whistled at the carnage. “We sure did.”

“I have no complaints,” Boba agreed.

“Uh, I do!” Sabine said, then pointed at Din. “You have _got_ to let me give the armor a paint job.”

Everyone cracked up.

“What?” Din stuttered.

“Come on!” Sabine darted up to him and held out her hands for his helmet, which he grudgingly handed over. “Look at this! Shiny, but boring.”

Din raised an eyebrow. “Boring?”

“Yes! It’s only one color!”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Look, even Boba has variety!”

Boba shrugged in response. “She’s got a point.”

“There is _no_ point,” Din tried to argue, but he quite honestly didn’t have any good excuses. Back in the covert, many of the other Mandalorians had color to their armor as well. His old armor had color, and he probably would have gotten some color to his new armor had he had time, but he had been so intertwined with rescuing Grogu that he had never gotten around to it.

“There’s definitely a point,” Sabine snorted and raised a finger in mock pompousness. “As the Mand’alor you must show your people you don’t have a stick up your ass.”

“How does having boring armor mean I have a stick up my ass?” Din retorted then responded in equal sarcasm. “I could have that kind of speech banned, you know.”

“At least you agree it’s boring,” Sabine just grinned in response, then pouted. “Please? I promise nothing crazy. And I’m pretty good! Look, I did my own!”

“We could tell,” Fennec snorted.

“Hey,” Sabine frowned, but turned back to Din, not to be dissuaded.

“What would you have in mind?” he asked after a moment.

Sabine squealed in delight. “Okay, so I’m thinking gold accents, right? Keep the silver, not matte, because I do like the shine. That way, if you scratch off the gold, the silver shows up underneath. Cool, right?” She saw his raised eyebrow. “Nothing too crazy, though, boss, I promise.”

Din rolled his eyes. At least she was warming up to him. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet.


	9. The Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Sabine find a way to get a message to Gideon, and the political side of retaking Mandalore starts to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this one was hard to write. And I had a sorta bad week. Lemme tell you about it! I got denied from one of my top colleges on Friday (yikes - but I probably wouldn't have ended up there anyways) got denied from a special program at a not top college of mine (oh well it was expensive anyways) and for a hot minute thought i was going to have to quarantine or miss my swim meet on saturday. I didn't have to quarantine (yay!) but a friend of mine did (she didn't miss the saturday meet - yay!). and NOW we might get snow tomorrow, which is sad because the last meet of the season is tomorrow and it's senior night and now that friend is going to miss cuz she has to quarantine until the end of next week, not tonight, and we probably won't have school which is also sad because we were going to dress up because it's the season championship meet :((( and we won't get a states meet that was supposed to be next weekend but its *virtual* because fucking covid sucks. 
> 
> BUT IT'S FINE I'M FINE EVERYTHING IS FINE. I have a long weekend coming up but I also have to work on an ultra-important school project, but I just need some me time :((

Cara glared down at the half dozen surviving stormtroopers with an intensity that was unsettling to Din. The troopers were suitably restrained, and as Solo helped Din and Mayfeld pile them into the only undamaged troop carrier.

Din pulled off the helmet of the highest ranked one, denoted by a red shoulder cap, and stepped back. The woman underneath stared up with fear in her eyes. Din tried to let his anger flow out of him, and repeated a sort of mantra: _They were forced into this. I’m not angry with them, I’m angry with Gideon. This is the Empire._

Cara entered the carrier behind them. Her resolve did not soften from what Din could see, but her hand tightened around her blaster. As gently as he could, he reached out his hand and pushed her blaster down. He turned back to the trooper, and she stared back with a strange look in her eyes.

“Who gave you the orders to come here? Where did those orders come from?” He asked both questions with a flat tone, hoping he wasn’t coming across as intimidating.

The trooper swallowed, and Din crouched so their faces were level (his helmet was back on, but he figured that didn’t matter – she had probably had similar experiences of wearing a helmet most of her life as well). “W-we’re just an orbiting a-attack team. The orders were anonymous.”

Cara huffed in annoyance. Din didn’t look at her. “How many teams like you are there?”

The trooper didn’t meet Din’s obscured gaze. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“We can find out where the orders were sent from,” Din said. “The ping tracer should still be intact, right?” The trooper nodded. “What happens when you finish a mission? What happens to the ships like these?”

The trooper shuffled a bit. “We go to our base cruiser to debrief, then go back into orbit and await more orders.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” the trooper next to the woman hissed. Din turned to them and pulled off their helmet. Underneath was a young man, younger than Din thought stormtroopers could be.

The young man glared up at Din. “We aren’t telling you anything.”

“You sure about that, punk?” Cara growled and started forward. Din shot up and held up his hands to keep her away.

“Enough,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and commanding. He turned to Solo behind him. “Do you think you can track the ping the orders came from?”

“Yeah,” Solo nodded and pushed to the front of the ship. Normally, troop carriers wouldn’t have a cockpit, but this ship was meant for space orbit, which meant that someone must have steered the ship, driven it. There had to be a pilot, one the Empire could trust enough to not defect.

Din turned to the young man and looked closer at his armor. Blue stripes adorned his shoulder patch. “You’re the pilot?”

“Yes,” the man sniffed, and the woman hung her head.

“The Empire chose you to be pilot because you’re loyal, is that it?” Cara sneered.

“Enough,” Din repeated, louder this time. Cara stiffened, and didn’t open her mouth again.

Solo approached from the front of the ship. “The ping came from Mandalore,” he said.

Mayfeld’s gaze snapped to Din, who didn’t react. As far as he had known, Mandalore was where most of the Empire was hiding – and as far as the Republic knew, Mandalore was barren and degraded to rubble. There was nothing there, nothing had been there since the Great Purge over a decade ago. “Can you reroute the ship back to Mandalore? Can it get there on autopilot?”

Solo shrugged. “Probably? It’ll still need a pilot to _land_ , though.”

“That’s not an issue. If they value their lives, they’ll land it.” The four remaining troopers who still had their helmets on were not moving, but Din knew they were conscious and listening. “Here’s the deal,” he said slowly. “This message needs to get to Moff Gideon on Mandalore: he either removes the Empire from that planet completely, or there will be consequences involving New Republic action.”

“What makes you think we’d say anything?” the pilot hissed aggressively, interrupting him. “I’ll crash this ship will all of us in it before-”

“I’ve got an idea!” Sabine called from the doorway. Din turned to her. “If they don’t want to say anything, I know a way we can still get the message.” She turned back and jumped out of the carrier, pulling something from her utility belt.

Din also stepped out of the carrier to see some kind of paint canister with a spray attachment in her hand. She was studying the side of the ship. It was large and blank with no windows. Sabine grinned, obviously pleased, then turned to Din, but didn’t say anything. She seemed to be studying his pauldron.

“Come here and hold still,” she said, with no regard for the fact she had almost ordered him. Nevertheless, he obeyed.

Readying her paint sprayers, she drew two long lines, connected at the top and separated at the bottom, curved slightly. Din knew what she was doing before she finished: she was painting his mudhorn signet. After a few minutes of Sabine studying his pauldron and painting, it was complete. On the side of the carrier was now a red mudhorn, almost a complete copy of the one Din wore, dripping slightly as the paint dried. When she was done, Sabine turned back to Din and grinned, as if to say, ‘get it?’

“Impressive,” Mayfeld whistled. “So, we set the autopilot for Mandalore, and hope the Imps find it, and even if these troopers don’t relay the message, they get the gist?”

“Seems antiquated,” Leia said. “But it gets the word across, I suppose. If it ends up crashing, there might still be enough wreckage to tell what it is.” Leia turned to Din. “Would Gideon recognize it?” He nodded. “Well, if that’s settled. I need to send a message to Luke.”

“Oh!” Solo clapped his forehead. “I forgot to check for a tracker.” Both Solo and Leia marched off to the _Falcon_ while Chewbacca emerged from the troop carrier, gargling that he had set it for autopilot to Mandalore. As the carrier’s engine started and it lifted off, the group watched it fly into the lower atmosphere and disappear.

Solo and Leia made their way back to them from the _Falcon_ a few minutes. “Lucky, really, that we didn’t get hit by any of those bombs. And I found a foreign hardware. They must have stuck a tracker on us when we left the ship in Kashyyyk. That would have been a prime time to stick it to us.”

 _Lucky_ , Din though. That, or something else was at hand. He pushed away the thought as cleanup of the town commenced. The townspeople picked up wrecked stands and set about piling fallen stromtroopers outside the city limits. There were no casualties among the residents of the town, and Cara and Greef spearheaded and encouraged the people. Many were terrified of the return of the Empire to their little town.

Din felt his feet carrying him to the entrance down to the covert. The little door remained unblocked for three years, and as he stepped down the stairs leading down to the abode of the Mandalorians long gone, he heard nothing. No laughing children, no conversing adults, no clangs of metal on metal, nothing. As he walked through the maze, he found remnants of weapons and toys and other objects that showed previous signs of life, but no life itself. He rounded his way into the forge, half expecting to see the Armorer, but she was not there.

“She left a few days after you did, the first time,” Cara said from behind him. She must have followed Din. “I don’t know where she went.”

“I need to find her,” Din said, almost to himself. “She might know where more are.”

Din didn’t need to look at Cara to see the pity on her face. “I have no idea where she is.”

Din just sighed. “There’s a lot of things I don’t know now.”

“What can I do to help?” Cara asked as they made their way out of the covert, sunlight momentarily blinding her enough to shield her eyes.

“We need to find more Mandalorians.” Din said, and Sabine trotted up to them, Boba and Fennec trailing behind her.

“Do you think Bo-Katan would know?” Cara asked.

“There’s a good chance she does,” he replied as they walked back to where the _Falcon_ was docked. “But I don’t know where she is either.”

“Who would know?” Fennec asked from behind them.

“Maybe Ahsoka would,” Sabine said. “We can start there.”

“You know where Ahsoka is?” Din asked.

Sabine nodded in confirmation. “We’ve been working together for years – we’re looking for a friend of ours who disappeared years ago. And Ahsoka and Bo-Katan are friends, they fought together in the clone wars when Maul took over Mandalore.”

Din hummed in understanding as they neared Solo’s ship as Sabine continued. “She was on Corvus for a while, you met here there, right? She left after she got rid of Elsebeth, but I don’t think that lead got anywhere. Elsebeth’s information on Thrawn’s position was wrong. Anyways, she’s been on some outer rim planet for the last few months.”

“What’s she been doing?” Mayfeld perked up.

Sabine shrugged. “No clue. Ideally, she’d be looking for Ezra, but we’ve got no fresh leads. The closest we’d be able to get…” she trailed off and shot a wary glance at Din. “The closest we’d be able to get is if we could find and capture Gideon.”

Din thought this observation probably made sense. Wherever Gideon was getting his information, he sure had a lot of it. Wherever this Ezra was, and whoever Grand Admiral Thrawn was, Gideon probably not only knew where they were, but also that they were being looked for.

They reached the ramp of the _Falcon_ and stood in silence as Leia descended the ramp. It was a hefty crew, now, with himself, Mayfeld, Cara, Greef, Sabine, Leia, Solo, Chewbacca, Boba, and Fennec (and the droid, which was nowhere to be seen – probably still inside the ship). Thankfully, they all didn’t need to fit inside the _Falcon_ – Boba probably wanted to stick to the _Slave_.

“I just sent a message to Luke. He’ll need to take Ben for a little bit longer, at least until we can start sorting this out with the Senate.” Leia said to Solo, who smiled at her and pressed his lips to her forehead. She leaned into a bit, closing her eyes. Pulling back and pecking him on the lips, she approached Din, while the rest of the crew dispersed into their own conversations. “Can I have a word?”

As he nodded, she turned and made her way away from the ship. She faced him again, her gaze hard. “You don’t seem like much of a politician to me.”

“I’m not one. I never have been.”

“Well, then, in that case, you _need_ to follow my lead, and be patient.” Din stared at her, and knew full well that, just because she couldn’t see his face, she knew what he was thinking. “The Senate is slow, Din,” she explained, and Din noticed the use of his first name. “I can tell you now that if you want my help, if you want the New Republic’s help, you need to be patient. It’s not a fast process, retaking a planet and setting up a new system of government. I know,” she held up a hand as he made a jerking motion to interrupt. “I know you don’t want Mandalore to be under New Republic jurisdiction. I plan on upholding that part of our compromise. The Senate has dealt with about a dozen other planets like Mandalore, but it takes _time_.”

Din felt his stomach drop. Was she trying to convince him to drop out? To leave it to someone else? Was she trying to tell him it would be too hard, and that she had changed her mind? “I… don’t understand,” he forced out after a moment of silence.

“I’m just trying to tell you what you’re getting into,” Leia said bracingly. “I think you’re doing a good and noble thing, but I think it’s going to be the worst process of your life, for someone like you – a warrior, not a politician,” she added as his body gave away his thoughts. “Are you willing? Because if you’re not, I’m not going to waste my time on you.”

Oh. She was trying to see if he was strong enough. She was being harsh to see if she needed to weed him out. “I’m doing this,” he said, maybe more forcefully than he intended. “Just tell me how, and what I have to do.” Her face split into a sort of encouraging smile, with a hint of mischievousness that only slightly bewildered Din.

As they walked back to the _Falcon_ , Leia explained what the precedent was for the Senate to set up new planets outside their jurisdiction. It seemed long and complicated, and Din did his best to keep up. Essentially, the first thing they would do was go to Chandrila, the capitol, where Leia would petition the Senate to create a committee for a new Mandalorian government. If that succeeded, she would create a team of other senators, where they would work together, Din included, to script a system for Mandalorian government. After that as completed, the script would then be sent up to the head script committee, who would vote on ratification. If it passed ratification, the entire Senate would vote on it, and would need a two-thirds majority to pass it into action. Only then would the Senate vote again for a three-fourths majority to raise troops to organize an attack to retake Mandalore. After that, the committee would stay in an ambassadorial capacity on the planet to appoint officials and set up trade and whatnot until the Senate voted _again_ to remove them if the Mandalorian government was working the way it was planned.

Din’s head was spinning as Leia finished her spiel. “In total, it would take up to four months to pass the script, then another month for the Senate to deliberate on raising troops for the actual military action. Retaking Mandalore itself could take some time as well, and the ambassadors can stay for up to three years after the planet is declared independent. Of course, this is all assuming the Senate thinks that there’s enough standing or benefit in approving the script and getting them to create a committee in the first place might be impossible if there are only three Mandalorians present at petition.”

There was absolute silence. The entire group was listening now, and they all looked as shocked and wary as Din felt. “Five months?” Mayfeld quaked, then grinned apologetically at Din. “Chandrila’s nice, though.”

“Five at best,” Leia corrected. “And yes, you’ll have to be there the whole time,” she said to Din.

“Hey, but representatives usually get treated very nicely, if I’ve heard correctly,” Solo said. Leia jerked her head in agreement. Din decided not to tell them he could care less about accommodations, and they weren’t exactly going to make him feel better about sitting in committee meetings for the next five months straight.

“So, what do you need the rest of us to do?” Cara asked. “If the politics are all taken care of, I’ll assume you want extra hands when the dirty stuff comes, but is there anything else?”

“We need as much help as we can get to find other Mandalorians. The Senate might approve the creation of a committee if I can wheedle a bit, but they’ll never approve the script if they don’t think there’s enough standing or interest,” Leia said. “I understand you have a job, and feel free to take your own time, and this favor isn’t for me.”

“Say no more!” Mayfeld piped up.

“I don’t have much else to do,” Fennec grinned, elbowing Boba. “Might as well help my boys out.”

Sabine’s face was flushed, and her cheeks were split wide into a massive grin. Even Boba was standing a little straighter, both of them excited at the prospect of finally retaking Mandalore.

Din was silent as the group looked at him. There was no feeling of animosity in the vicinity, and they all looked willing and agreeable, even encouraging and excited. Din was touched. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BRUH. I just found out I can do line breaks *le gasp*. This is amazing and I will be utilizing this function. 
> 
> also have some fluff
> 
> also I'M SO EXCITED CUZ NEXT CHAPTER WE GET A NEW CHARACTER AND HE'S AMAAAAAZING. New as in a clone wars character. yay.


	10. The Relation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and company arrive on Chandrila and introductions ensue. Meanwhile, something else is amiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the well-wishers after my overbearing rant last update. The meet got moved (again) from today to Monday, but ugghghghg. Anyways, I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO RANT ABOUT.
> 
> FREAKING Gina Carano will never not get on my nerves. What the hell. But honestly, what Lucasfilm did was not advisory either. Cancel culture just sucks, man. (this was a lot more eloquent in my head, but whatever). What Gina Carano said was wrong, obviously, but I think cancelling/firing her isn't helping either. Just because Lucasfilm is running from the problem doesn't mean it ceases to exist, and that is the major issue right now in American politics (I'm american, if you didn't already know). If anything, Gina Carano is going to have some form of leverage now that she thinks her point is being proved (it's not, obviously, but hear me out). She's basically saying that the way current culture is not supportive of some conservative ideals is synonymous with the way Jews were persecuted in the Holocaust. OBVIOUSLY, THIS IS WRONG AND EVERYBODY KNOWS THIS BECAUSE TRUMPERS AREN'T BEING SLAUGHTERED BY THE MILLIONS. But the point she's trying to make is just what Lucasfilm did - she got fired because of her political views (which are INCORRECT IN TERMS OF THAT COMMENT ABOUT RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION). But Lucasfilm should have done something else. I don't really have an answer in terms of what they should have done, but firing her and supporting her are both bad choices. They could have offered a statement saying they didn't agree with what she said, but I just know the public would have immediately pushed for them to fire her. That's just how these things work. But now they have to worry about the future of the show without her. Quite honestly, i'm not devastated to see Gina Carano and her toxic ass leave the show, but I actually really liked Cara Dune as a character. Now, Lucasfilm basically has to decide if they're going to kill Cara off, which is the more advisable choice, in my opinion, but then you run the risk of fridging, which is also an issue. They could also recast her, but I don't know if I love that option either, because you'd need a pretty good actress to pick up the shoes and make them fit just like Gina Carano did, which is hard in any means. Recasting Cara would totally distract from the show in the first place, and it might not be a bad writing opportunity to give more motivation or development to other characters. Just saying. BUT I did hear somebody say Lana Parilla could play Cara and i just about screamed. Like WHAAAAA

The _Falcon_ and the _Slave_ docked in neighboring ports, pursued by a tiny little director droid. As Din emerged from the _Slave_ ’s ramp, he looked across the horizon of Chandrila. While Coruscant, the last capitol of the Republic, had been a planet covered completely in city-like architecture, Chandrila had a much more organic and natural look. The capitol city of Hanna was nestled at the bottom of a great mountain, right on the beach of a swirling ocean.

The sunset painted the sky purple and gold, and as Din looked past the towering buildings, the rest of the city was obscured from vision as it stretched down the shore. Fennec whistled appreciatively from behind him. The warm wind made her hair flick across her face. Boba and Sabine emerged from the ship behind him, Leia, Solo, Chewbacca, Mayfeld, Cara, and C-3P0 following suit from the _Falcon_ (Greef had insisted Cara accompany Din and had stayed on Nevarro).

The entire group traipsed together down the docking bay towards what looked like a welcoming committee. Leia took the lead, and marched up to the person at the front, who smiled peacefully and spoke something Din couldn’t hear. The group was slightly larger than half a dozen people, all dressed like politicians, and of almost all different species. Only one was a human, the woman Leia was speaking with.

Leia turned to Din and beckoned him down the ramp. He stepped forward hesitantly and stood next to her. “This is Din Djarin,” Leia said to the elderly woman, who smiled and bowed slightly.

“I am Mon Mothma, Chancellor of the New Republic Senate,” she said. Mothma had short, almost pure white hair, but kind and slightly wrinkled eyes. She gave the impression of someone who had fought too many wars, but kept her head up, nonetheless. Someone any Mandalorian would respect without a second’s thought.

Din returned the gesture, bowing slightly in return. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Mothma smiled kindly then turned to Leia, eying Din, Sabine, and Boba. “I take it there’s a reason you brought three Mandalorians to the Capitol, Senator Organa.”

Leia raised her chin, her eyes flashing. “Yes, Chancellor.”

“I know that look,” a Mon Calamari male chuckled from the back.

Leia’s mouth twitched. “I like to petition the Senate to form a conference committee as soon as possible, Ackbar.”

Ackbar’s mouth curved into what Din could only assume was a smile (it was hard to tell with reptilian species). “And what is this conference committee for?” he asked, in a tone that could only mean he already knew the answer.

“The formation of a Mandalorian government.” The answer did not seem to faze the group of politicians. Rather, they seemed invigorated.

“It remains up to the Larger Senate,” Mothma started, “but I feel it is high time to take action on Mandalore.” Mothma turned to Din. “Leia has told us you were the one who aided her in liberating Kashyyyk.”

“Yes,” Din said.

“This Senate remains in your debt, then,” the chancellor replied, and turned to the group behind her. “This is – I’m sorry, _was_ , the Provisional Council, or the Inner Council of the New Republic. We are now representative members of the New Republic Council. And this,” Mothma said, gesturing to the gray-haired Wookie behind her, who stepped forward and shook Din’s hand, “is Kerrithrarr of Kashyyyk. He was the one who spearheaded the liberation effort. Thanks to you and Leia, his planet is now secure again.”

Kerrithrarr growled his thanks to Din, who nodded awkwardly in return. He was totally out of his depth here. Politics frightened him, to say the least. To have the lives of millions, maybe billions in one person’s hands never ended well, he thought. Then he remembered Leia’s words and calmed himself. Patience, he reminded himself. Patience and trust.

“Walk with us,” Mothma gestured, and what was now a small crowd entered the city. Mothma spoke to both Din and Leia: “You’ll have to wait to begin committee formation,” she was saying. “At least for another week or so. We’re in an extended recess until the operation on Kashyyyk is completely finished.”

Leia’s face twisted a bit. “Is there any way we can speed up the process?”

Mothma smiled. “You might be able to kick off sooner if you start forming your committee now. You’ll most likely be appointed committee chair, so pick your team wisely.”

“How many do you think I’ll get?”

“Senators?” Mothma’s head tilted in thought. “I’d say about a dozen.”

“I’d make a barter for ten,” Ackbar interjected. “You’ll want a smaller group, obviously.”

“Yes,” Leia mused. “Smaller committees make for faster action.”

Din let the noise go in one ear and out the other. Nothing in this speaking of committees or senators or chairs or scripts made any sense.

“And you’ll want one of these Mandalorians on your team as well,” Mothma said, and Din started paying attention again. “I think-”

“Din Djarin here has already accepted the formal leadership title of Mandalore,” Leia interrupted. “The Mandalore, it’s called, right?” she turned to Din.

“The same name as the planet?” Ackbar grinned.

“The pronunciation is a bit different,” Din said quietly. “In our language, Mando’a, the title of the planet and the title of the leader are only different while speaking. I am _Mand’alor_ ,” he said with the correct, slightly guttural noise denoted by the written apostrophe, trying not to fidget as Sabine turned her helmeted gaze to him at the admittance.

“How did you come across this position?” Mothma questioned.

Din paused, not sure if he should give the real answer. “Er… It is customary within our people that the title of Mand’alor is given to the person who defeats the last in battle.”

“Who was the last Mand’alor?” Mothma said warily after a pause she must have left to let Din explain on his own.

“They weren’t a Mand’alor,” Sabine said, walking beside Din now. “Tell them about the darksaber,” she whispered to Din.

“Moff Gideon was in possession of an ancient artifact to our people,” Din said, according to Sabine’s wishes. “A weapon formed by an Mandalorian centuries ago has been a symbol of leadership and power to our people. Gideon had it, and I took it from him three years ago.”

The council shifted uncomfortably as they neared a large, tall building. “Ah… yes. Gideon,” Mothma mused. “I understand you are aware he escaped our hold on him some time ago.”

“Yes,” Din said, trying not to sound accusatory. He could tell Leia appreciated it, and she shot him a thankful glance. “We have information that tells us he may be on Mandalore.”

Mothma’s gaze snapped to Din, as did the rest of the council. “Really?”

Din’s gaze flicked over to Sabine, who stood up a little straighter. “I’ve been back to Mandalore after the Great Purge. The Empire is hiding, keeping all their supplies and officials on the planet.”  
“We weren’t aware of this,” Ackbar grunted.

“That’s probably why they’re doing it,” Din pointed out.

“As far as the New Republic knows, the entire planet was glassed,” Leia said. “We thought nothing could live there anymore.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Sabine entered again, “they left Sundari alone when they glassed the rest of the planet and told everyone they destroyed it. The capitol city is perfectly intact, and nobody knows.”

Mothma touched her mouth with the tips of her fingers, deep in thought. “It would be unwise to act without a plan for the rest of the planet.” Mothma turned to Leia. “This situation is more dire than we realized. Your committee could be our only chance at peace in the galaxy.”

“I understand,” Leia said. The glint was back.

“And you all,” Mothma continued, turning back to the group at large, “look like you need a long night of rest.” Mothma walked away a short distance to a group of clerks, then gave one of them some instructions. The clerk swaggered forward as the council departed with a confident smile on their face.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Leia told them as she took Solo’s hand in hers. “My suite is that way,” she gestured. “Just ask around if you need me,” she reassured, mostly to Din as she departed, Solo and Chewie in tow.

They entered the tall building and they all piled inside the surprisingly large elevator led by the clerk. “These room are always open in case there are diplomatic visitors,” the clerk explained as the elevator ascended. The large window behind them opened up to a view of the large capital city of Hanna, and the sunset glimmered across the water and momentarily blinded them through the window with an orange glare.

“So, what’s your job?” Mayfeld chirped, making a valiant attempt at small talk with the clerk.

“I am one of Chancellor Mothma’s assistants,” the clerk replied confidently in a heavily accented, slightly purring voice. “I hope to be one of her proteges in the future, but for now, I go where she tells me to go and do what she tells me to do. I’m still finishing my studies in political sciences, but once I finish, our relationship will give me a leg up when I search for actual opportunities.”

“What’s your name?” Cara asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot,” the clerk winced. “My name is Aryn Som.”

Din gave Aryn a good, hard look. They were shorter than Din, yet still muscular, and rather ambiguous. As Din studied them, he noticed Aryn kept shooting him wary looks, regardless of the confidence Din had observed when they had first approached. It took a few minutes for him to realize why Aryn doing it, and he realized with a shock: Aryn was a Cathar, a feline bipedal race from the planet of the same name.

That shook him more than he wanted to admit. The Mandalorians had slaughtered the Cathar nearly to extinction almost four thousand years ago, led by Mandalore the Indomitable. It had only been before the Galactic Civil War that Cathar had finally been rebuilt and completely restored from the damage that had been inflicted by Din’s own people. By someone who had given themselves the same title Din had now.

He was shaken out of his spiraling thoughts as the elevator shuddered to a stop. Aryn scurried out first, followed by Cara, Mayfeld, and Fennec. Din’s feet didn’t move, and Sabine and Boba noticed.

“They’re Cathar,” he hissed in a low voice as they shot him what he assumed to be questioning looks from under helmets.

“I know,” Sabine replied, voice quavering at the same time Boba said, “A what?” in a dubious and uncaring tone.

“The Cathar were slaughtered by the Mandalorians during the Conquests,” Sabine summarized. “They’ve only just rebuilt in the last century.”

Boba's body language shifted in comprehension. “So, what,” he muttered.

Sabine must have rolled her eyes, and she placed her hands on her hips. “The Cathar never really forgave us after that.”

Boba didn’t react. “Again, so what? We’re here to rebuild our own planet, not theirs.”

Sabine scoffed and marched out of the elevator, and Din followed wordlessly. He found himself in a lounge of sorts, with a few rooms nestled off into corners through doors. Mayfeld and Cara had already collapsed onto the couches, and Fennec was darting around, picking up and examining certain decorations with a malicious interest.

Aryn was standing in a corner, eying the Mandalorians as they entered the room. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” they said and entered the elevator. “There will be an escort here in the morning who will take care of you for the rest of your stay.”

Din tried not to make his gaze obvious as he watched Aryn leave. They didn’t look particularly nervous, just suspicious, even untrusting.

“They seem nice,” Mayfeld commented, completely oblivious, while Cara and Fennec assented. Din grunted.

They all ended up retreating to separate room not long after. Thankfully, there were six rooms in total, one for each. Inside each room was a bed, desk, small bathroom, and amenities. Din wondered how often “diplomatic visitors” used these rooms, but then realized that it was probably quite often, given this was the capitol city of the Republic. Many people like himself, aiming to rebuild their planets in the wake of the Empire, had probably ventured through this city.

Din was about to close the door before Sabine stuck her foot in, keeping him from solitude. She kept her voice down in a whisper, as Cara was in the next room over and Din could already hear her snores. “Are you going to give it to me or not?” she asked.

It took a second for Din to realize she was talking about his armor. He tried not to roll his eyes in amusement. She was so eager, he thought, and almost convinced he would refuse her.

“Fine,” he grunted, and retreated behind the semi-closed door. Sabine peered through the crack as he removed every piece of beskar and handed it to her. She made several rounds between his room and hers, carting it off bit after bit.

Finally, he pulled of the last pieces and she grinned up at him (she had taken her helmet off as well) and they looked at each other through uncovered eyes.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he warned her as she back away again.

“It’s fine,” she whispered. “It’s quick-drying paint. It’ll be done before I go to sleep. You should get some rest, though.”

He shot her a dubious look as she retreated, and he closed the door. Opening several of the drawers, he found sleeping clothes and slipped them on after removing his flightsuit. They ended up being a bit too big, but he was too tired to try another set on. He collapsed into the bed and slept.

He felt like he had closed his eyes two seconds before he woke up again, and sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the blinds of the window. He huddled underneath the blankets and mourned the first good night of sleep he’d gotten in a long time.

Before long, though, he felt the inklings of wakefulness creep up on him and reluctantly slid out of bed. Making his way over to the window, he opened the blinds and took in the city below him. He must be in one of the tallest buildings, because all the people below looked smaller than stars in the night sky, and no other building touched the near horizon from his view.

A knock on the door stirred him from his revelry. He opened it and saw Sabine, unarmored, but dragging a sheet of clanking metal behind her. “I couldn’t carry it, all, sorry,” she grinned. “I just wrapped it up it the sheet. But it’s done!”

“That was fast,” Din remarked.

“I did say only accents,” she replied, dragging the sheet in front of her. Din emerged a bit more from the doorway and knelt, digging in the sheet before picking up his helmet. Generally, it had retained the original silver sheen, only the arching seam over the top was a shiny gold, not matte like Boba’s. Other accents were on the cheekbone plate and the ear strips.

“Impressive,” he managed, picking up his pauldron next, the one adorned with the mudhorn. Noticing a pattern, most the seams were now gold, and the mudhorn had been painted as well.

Cara emerged from her room, and her eyes snapped almost immediately on the armor. “Damn,” she smiled. “That’s pretty badass.”  
“Going for the regal look,” Sabine shrugged. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said to Din, and went back to her own room.

Din took his time. Unlike Nevarro, he had the luxury now of settling back into his process he had adopted during his time in the covert and had continued while on the run with Grogu. He paused as he thought about the child, fondly remembering his antics and mannerisms. He was struck by an anxious pang as he wondered if Leia had told Luke to come to them, but then shook it off as he remembered that Luke was apparently taking care of her son, so she would not recall Luke if she didn’t know if Chandrila was safe enough. 

Din finished putting on the amor and caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror before putting on his helmet. It was still definitely him, but not the same person he had left Nevarro as. Looking at himself now, he could see the anxiety and responsibility weighing down on his shoulders, nowhere near to the person he had been when he had first taken Grogu in. He had been so cold, he remembered now. But Grogu had softened the unbreakable beskar armor around him and had used those tiny hands to cradle Din.

And now, what was he? A father without a child, yes, but no longer a Mandalorian without a creed. No longer was he a loner, but now he had a battalion. He steeled himself and stepped out of his room, helmet still tucked under his arm. He wanted his friends to see his old face before they saw his new mask.

“That is awesome,” were the first words he was greeted by, coming straight from Mayfeld’s mouth.

Cara and Fennec whistled appreciatively, and Boba nodded in approval while Sabine grinned proudly.

The ping of the elevator warned them of newcomers, and Din tried not to squirm, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t Aryn to see him with his helmet off. Thankfully, however, it was Leia. She glanced around the lounge with a chipper “Good morning!” then looked at Din.

Her face broke into the biggest smile Din had seen her give. “That looks like a Mand’alor,” she said.

Din knew he couldn’t take compliments, but this was on another level. He felt so awkward even trying, but thankfully Leia changed the topic, clearly noticing his discomfort. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Actually, two people.”

They all piled into the elevator again, and Din replaced his helmet as they landed on the ground floor. Escaping from the confines of the elevator, Din saw Solo and Chewbacca conversing with two other men, one yellow Twi’lek with colorful rainbow markings and another blonde human.

Following Leia, she first introduced them to the Twi’lek, who introduced himself as Jela. “I’ll be your escort,” Jela said kindly. Din studied him for a moment. Mounted at mid-root, the bottom half of Jela’s left lekku was severed clean off, disrupting the colorful markings covering the rest of his head. Nevertheless, Jela’s attitude reminded Din of someone who had fought too many battles, either physical or mental. He almost instantly earned Din’s respect.

Leia then turned to the other man, the human. He was middle-aged, tall, and blonde. Dressed in very simplistic clothes, he looked like he was buzzing with excitement as Leia began introductions.

“My name is Korkie,” he said. “Korkie Kryze.”

There was a ripple of undisguised surprise, not all of it benign. 

"Kryze?" Cara bit back. 

Korkie's shoulders sagged. "Ah... You have met my aunt, then."

* * *

_Last night, on Mandalore_

“Moff Gideon, sir?”

Gideon lazily turned away from a boring report on mining on Concordia. “What?” he shot.

The officer in the doorway looked petrified, much to Gideon’s pleasure. “S-sir, there’s an incoming transmission. It’s addressed to you.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “From where?”

“Chandrila, sir.”

Gideon cocked his head in interest. “Did we ever find out where Din Djarin went after leaving Nevarro?”

“Yes sir,” the officer trembled. “He went to Chandrila.”

Gideon smirked. If only the pilot of the _Millennium Falcon_ had realized there had been a backup tracker… Given it was a mediocre one at best, and could only give off tracking signals when in the vicinity of an established network, but it was one of the best on the market for his means… The secondary tracker would not have been picked up by the ship’s hardware scanners.

“Sir?” The officer squeaked. “The transmission?”

Gideon gestured to a bodyguard, and the offending officer dropped dead. These silly officers simply didn’t understand to not interrupt. “Patch the transmission through,” he said to the room at large.

The hologram popped up to reveal a most unexpected sight. Granted, Gideon hadn’t expected Djarin to seek an audience, but he wasn’t sure why there was a Cathar kneeling before him.

“My Lord,” the Cathar greeted, turning its feline eyes up to Gideon.

“Who are you?” Gideon asked, keeping all interest out of his voice.

“My name is Aryn Som. I believe I can be of some use to you.”

“How so?” Gideon said.

“I am currently in the employ of Supreme Chancellor Mon Mothma, on Chandrila. I trust you are aware of the New Republic’s plan to retake Mandalore?”

“Yes,” Gideon waved off. “I am aware.”

“My Lord, I know the exact whereabouts of Din Djarin, the new leader of Mandalore. And I know the Empire does not want him to succeed just as much as my people can’t afford to see the reinstatement of a new Mandalore,” the Cathar explained.

“What are you offering?” Gideon said, his interest piqued.

“I am offering my services, and my allegiance to your cause. I am, body and soul, yours to command.”

Gideon smirked. This _was_ quite the surprise. “Body and soul, you say?”

The Cathar’s gaze flared. “Yes, my Lord,” it said. “So long as Din Djarin does not succeed.”

Gideon hummed. “That can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, can anybody think of any way you can kill of a female character and it NOT be considered fridging? 
> 
> Fridging, for anyone who doesn't know, is a trope in which a female character is killed, injured, or raped for the pure motivation on the writer's side of emotionally furthering a man. It's a very harmful and sexist trope, and I'm over here trying to figure out if there's ever been a female killed off in media where it hasn't been considered fridging. Like, it's everywhere, and i want to figure out how Lucasfilm could kill off Cara and it NOT be seen as sexist. Anyone?


	11. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Migs and Cara's journey, almost two months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm not dead, I swear. I just had the shit-craziest week, and I needed to take a moment. I had a pretty big school project, swim meet, lots of schoolwork, and I went to go visit my sister last weekend. But I finished the project in time, the swim season had a very uneventful end, and my schoolwork isn't going anywhere. Yay me. I'm feeling weirdly subdued right now. Dunno why ¯_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> But y'all are just going to say "don't even worry about it, take your time, it's worth waiting for" all because you are amazing people and I love you so much. :))
> 
> I've lowkey just stopped thinking about all things politics, so Miss Carano has simply not crossed my mind in the last week. Probably a good thing, but whatever. 
> 
> I know you've just been DYING for this update, though, so I digress.

_The not-so-distant future…_

Migs’ feet slipped through the slush, and he figured that even if he didn’t want his curses to be heard, whoever he was either trying to find or avoid could see his tracks. Cursing his forgetfulness to bring a heavier coat, he trudged through the snow-capped city.

Cara, bundled up in her own heavy clothing, looked up to the tops of the massive buildings that arched over them like some kind of monster.

Coruscant was beautiful in the winter, given, but Migs was so sick of the cold at this point. They had already been there for a week, with no fruits of their labors. All he wanted to do was retreat back to their cramped transport ship and blast the heaters. He could tell Cara was tired, too, after walking through the city-planet all day, and he was only a few seconds away from suggesting turning in.

The streets were very nearly empty now with night quickly falling. The snow wasn’t aggressive, but it had solidified into an ugly slush under their feet, soaking through Migs’ boots that weren’t made for this kind of weather. They had been out since earlier that morning in a valiant attempt to beat the snow, but after a week of doing the same thing over and over again, Migs wasn’t too optimistic anymore.

“Maybe we should turn back,” he finally said, his voice hoarse from both the cold and for not using it for a few hours. “We aren’t getting anywhere.”

Cara sniffed her running nose. Her cheeks and nose were blood-red, and her arms were bundled close into her body. “Maybe not,” she mumbled through her scarf.

They rerouted quickly enough, and they made their way with more haste to the port where the borrowed ship was docked. It had been a temporary gift from Mothma and Leia, who had decided it would be better to divide and conquer:

_“There are plenty of bigger, nicer ships you could borrow,” Leia said, smiling as Migs gazed up at the transport ship. “Why chose the smaller one?”_

_Migs looked back at her. “These things_ move _, you know.”_

_Leia laughed and shook her head, then turned to her husband. “Tell me your plan again? I’ve been busy with… other things.”_

_Din had shifted on his feet at that, Migs noticed. Probably restless, he figured. The approval for committee creation had arrived four days ago, and ever since, he had been nearly inseparable from Leia, her senators that made up the committee, and Korkie Kryze. Korkie wasn’t a senator, as his home planet wasn’t represented by the Senate. At least not yet. Now, Korkie stood behind Din, with his undeniable political savviness that Migs knew Din envied._

_“Well,” Solo started, and then went full throttle. “I’ll go with Sabine and Chewie, and we’re going to attempt to find Ahsoka so she can help us find Bo-Katan. We’re starting in the Teth system.” Sabine hadn’t been able to get ahold of Ahsoka. Migs decided he didn’t envy them. The Teth system was so painstakingly wild that he wondered why anybody in their right mind would go there willingly._

_“They,” Solo continued, pointing at Migs and Cara, “are going to Mandalore. Hopefully, the Empire hasn’t destroyed all the data banks on the remaining Mandalorians. Then they’ll follow the breadcrumbs to find the… what’s she called?” he asked Din._

_“The Armorer,” Din muttered. “I don’t know her name.”_

_“Yeah, her, but it doesn’t matter if we find her specifically, ‘cos we’ll know where others are.” Solo continued. “But she might know where other Mandalorians are. And while they’re out and about, they’ll spread the news.” Solo turned to Boba and Fennec next. “They are going to the Mandalore sector to wander around and see if they can’t find any Mandalorians or other information we could use and see if there is a way to get a larger military force onto the planet itself.”_

_Leia nodded her approval. “How long until you leave?”_

_“Tomorrow morning,” Solo responded as a little flurry of conversation broke out. “Tell Ben I say hi, right?”_

_Leia hummed as she hugged him. Migs shifted uncomfortably, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t intruding._

_“I’ll tell Luke to bring him back in about a week, just until after we know it’s safe,” she replied. “Be careful.”_

_“Aren’t I always,” Solo grinned as he kissed his wife._

Migs’ breath billowed as he climbed the absurd number of steps leading up to the upper levels of the city (they had been mostly on the lower levels until then). The wind grew in strength, and with the extra cool of the night, Migs was just about ready to plop down on the ground and call it quits. His feet and legs were just about numb, and they were still a lengthy walk away from their ship.

“Are you sure there aren’t, like, hotels we can hide in until this quits?” he whined.

Cara huddled in her jacket. “Not over here. These are mostly residences, I think. Worth checking out, actually,” she mused. Her eyes flicked over the balcony looking down on the lower level. Her steps faltered and something flicked across her face before she, to Migs’ dismay, turned around and hurried down the stairs again. 

“Caraaaaaa,” Migs wailed after her. “Nice, warm ship, remember? Not freezing our asses off?” He groaned loudly, then placed one foot on the top step, which promptly slid out from under him. An almighty yelp tore itself from his throat as he fell down the massive set of stairs. He passed Cara on his way down, his head and ass hitting the steps painfully each time. Finally, he reached the end of the stairs, and he sprawled.

Cara’s face floated above him, cracked in a massive grin. “Oh, my maker,” she wheezed through laughter. She doubled over in what would have looked like breathless sobs if Migs didn’t know she was laughing at him.

Migs sneered as he grabbed a handful of slushy, watery snow and chucked it at her. She gasped, laughter forgotten as it landed on her face and slipped down the front of her clothes.

“Oh, I’m going to kill you,” she growled as she scrambled to scoop it out.

Migs squeaked as he managed to struggle to his feet and readied himself for her coming onslaught, but her eyes weren’t on him anymore. He turned around, and almost didn’t see anything due to the falling night.

Movement gave the child away. A little boy huddled in the shadow of a building was staring at them, not fearfully, with a few fingers in his mouth.

“You dragged us down here for a child?” Migs hissed to Cara.

“I saw something else, too,” she whispered. “I didn’t… I don’t know.”

Migs approached the child. “Hey there,” he said, trying to not seem intimidating or dangerous.

The child looked up at him with a blank stare, then pulled his fingers out of his mouth. “You slip.”

Migs frowned as Cara sniggered. “You try it,” he grumbled as he stared the child down. Then, he noticed something peculiar. Stitched into the child’s clothing was a strange hexagonal shape that was strikingly familiar. “What’s that?” he asked the child gently, pointing to the shape.

“Heart,” the kid responded stiffly.

“Oh,” Cara gasped. “He’s Mandalorian!”

“What?” Migs asked as he turned around to her.

“I don’t know what it means, but the Mandalorians wear that symbol. Din’s got it, in his armor, and Korkie wears it too, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Migs said, finally getting excited. After a week of searching and a month and a half on Mandalore, they had finally gotten somewhere. He turned back to the kid. “Can you take us to your parents?”

The little boy toddled away, back into the shadows of the building. “That was easy,” Cara grinned. Migs scowled at her, rubbing his behind pointedly.

The kid was a lot faster than they anticipated. He was just about running, through twists and turns, into tiny little crevices that Cara, with her added muscly bulk, struggled to fit through.

Migs emerged from what he really hoped wasn’t a sewage pipe and stood up. “Shit!” he growled. “I lost him!”

Cara huffed as she emerged behind him. “Dank farrik,” she wheezed.

“We have to be close,” Migs whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Cara hissed.

“I don’t know!” Migs whisper-yelled back. “I just… this is creepy. I thought we were looking for _pacifist_ Mandalorians.”

“Just because they aren’t wearing armor doesn’t mean they’re pacifist. And we don’t even know if this _is_ a pacifist community,” Cara said.

“And maybe there _are_ armored Mandalorians,” came a new voice from behind them.

Cara and Migs both yelled in shock and scrambled to look around. Sure enough, there was an armored Mandalorian right behind them.

“Holiest shit of the maker,” Migs wheezed. “That scared me.”

The Mandalorian cocked their head. “It was unintentional, believe me,” they said dryly. “And kind of funny, too. How did you get in here?”

Cara shuffled forward. “We followed a kid,” she said, trying to be helpful. “Pretty small, about yea high.”

The Mandalorian’s head rolled back in annoyance. “ _Jez_ ,” they groaned. “He keeps slipping out. Did you see where he went?”

“We followed him up to here, but then we lost him,” Migs said.

“Help a friend out?” The Mandalorian stalked away, and Migs finally caught a glimpse of their armor, which had previously been obscured in the bad light. They had the body shape of a male, he guessed, and his armor was a black base with a nice, sky blue coating. A strange symbol adorned his right pauldron.

“Jez!” he was yelling now. “Jez! Come out, kid! Your mom is looking for you! _Again_ ,” he grumbled under his breath. A little giggle echoed through the cavern-like space, protected from the cold of the city outside. “Jezzie,” the Mandalorian cooed, more playfully. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

The little boy reappeared, racing out of another shadowed corner, barreling straight into the Mandalorian’s leg. “Nori!” Jez yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Oh, I’ve been bested!” the Mandalorian groaned. He toppled, sprawling flat on his back as Jez crawled over him, panting and nose running. Cara grimaced.

“Gotcha!” the Mandalorian snapped forward and gathered Jez up in his arms. Jez squealed with laughter as the Mandalorian stood, child in arms. “Sorry about that,” he said to Cara and Migs, who shrugged. “How can I help you? I’m Nori, by the way. Nori Shull.”

“I’m Cara Dune, and this is Migs Mayfeld,” Cara supplied.

“Why are you here?” Nori asked, his tone turning a bit more threatening, or curious. Migs didn’t feel threatened, though, as Jez was grinning happily on Nori’s hip.

“We’re looking for Mandalorians,” Migs said. “A message for anyone who will listen.”  
Nori approached him, lowering his head to Migs (Nori was a good few inches taller than him). “Why should we trust you? The last time somebody had a message for us, there was a genocide,” he said, a bit sarcastically.

“I-I can’t give you proof,” Migs stuttered. “We come in peace; we have no intention of hurting anybody, but we need to get a message to whoever is in charge-”

“Who is the message from?” Nori interrupted, his voice turning steely behind his helmet.

“The Mand’alor,” Cara interrupted calmly and loudly.

Nori’s gaze snapped to her. “The… what?!”

“The new Mand’alor,” she supplied again. “You know, the… the leader of Mandalore?”

“Yes, I know what the Mand’alor is,” Nori snapped. “Are you _serious_? There hasn’t been a Mand’alor since… I don’t even know! Before Duchess Satine, at least.”

Nori’s obscured gaze didn’t leave them, then he sighed. “You’ll need to come in. I don’t…” Nori’s hands fidgeted underneath Jez. “ _Maker,_ really? From the Mand’alor?” He sighed again, then jerked his head in a gesture for them to follow.

There were more tunnels, more hallways, and more stairs. They must nearly be underground now, deep beneath the hustle and bustle of the city upstairs. “Why do you always hide underground?” Cara grumbled. “It’s so dark and dreary.”

“Our strength is in our numbers,” Nori replied. “But with the Empire against us, there aren’t many places we can hide ourselves. Underground offers lots of space, and good hiding.” He spun around again. “Have you seen other Mandalorians? Other than… t-the Mand’alor?” His voice slipped into a reverent tone.

“Not many,” Cara said. “Only about six so far.”

Nori nodded but didn’t say anything. Soon enough, they reached another large doorway. “Through here,” he said. “If anyone comments, just… ignore it?”

Migs snorted. “Yep, like walking into a den of Mandalorians and ignoring them is a good idea,” he grumbled so Nori couldn’t hear.

The doors opened, and Migs was promptly shocked. Inside was not the dreary, dark hole he was expecting, with shadowy figures instead of people, but it was actually very bright. Artificial, golden light streamed from light fixtures, and the babbling of voices created quite the cacophony. Nori strode forward, and an armor less woman rushed up.

“Oh, Nori, thank you so much, this little turd keeps getting away from me,” she gasped as Jez squealed and reached for his mother. Nori grinned and passed the child over.

Migs gazed around the opening hall. Several other hallways seemed to lead off what looked like some kind of communal area, complete with couches and tables. Mandalorians, both with and without armor talked and laughed with each other. Some helmetless people were sipping drinks, others sat with bowls or plates of food in front of them. Children, some also with helmets but without cumbersome armor, raced around the legs of the adults, chasing each other. Others waved pretend swords. Even some of the adults were sparring, though when one fighter fell, the other helped them up.

“Wow,” Migs gasped as they entered the room.

“So this is what Din was talking about,” Cara grinned.

“What?”

“He was talking about the covert,” Cara waved him off. “He described it, and it was almost exactly like this. I mean, they were all wearing helmets, but whatever.”

As Cara and Migs made their way into the room, they seemed to draw some eyes. The faces that weren’t uncovered were curious, only a few hostile. The noise seemed to dim, and a torrent of whispers floated like smoke through the room.

“Follow me,” Nori said in a low voice, and guided them through the middle of the room, back to the furthest hallway.

“Who are all these people?” Migs asked. “Like, are you all the same clan?” He knew clans and houses were a thing, Din had told them about it.

“No,” Nori replied. “We aren’t even all in the same house. From what I know, this is the largest group of remaining Mandalorians. There are about 150 of us. Only about half wear armor, the other half are ‘pacifists’ or they don’t wear armor for other reason. But this is mostly House Kast, some House Vizsla mixed in. The pacifists don’t have a house, and some people haven’t sworn allegiance to any house at all.”

“That’s pretty disorganized,” Cara critiqued. “Who’s in charge?”

“It’s… there are elders, who remember the way things used to be, and they’re mostly in charge, but… yeah, it’s pretty chaotic,” Nori winced. “We lose people all the time. The Empire is still after us… it always is.” He didn’t turn his entire head towards them, but miniscule movements of his head told Migs he was sneaking glances at them.

Nori led them all the way up to another doorway, leading into another, smaller lounge area. It looked somewhat like a conference room.

“Excuse me,” Nori said. Inside the room were about half a dozen people, only two wearing armor. “These people say they have a message.”

The few unarmored people in the room stood up from their chairs around the table. “Who are you?” one of the women spoke up, her wispy gray hair pulled back in such a tight bun that made Migs surprised to see her hairline was still there. Migs decided to call her The Ancient One.

“My name is-” Cara started, but one of the armored Mandalorians who had been standing in the back, nearly obscured, interrupted her.

“Cara Dune.” The newcomer stepped forward. Her (for Migs was sure it was a woman) armor was entirely gold, and she was wearing some kind of animal skin around her waist and shoulders. On her head were small, stubby little horns in the shape of a crown. “She is trustworthy,” she said to her comrades.

The others in the room bristled. The uncovered faces broke into scowls. Clearly, they didn’t like this woman, but the other armored Mandalorian sheathed their knife that Migs didn’t realize had been drawn.

“You!” Cara gasped. The woman nodded, then shrunk back. “I… uh…”

Migs rolled his eyes. “We are here on behalf of the new Mand’alor.”

A rustle of movement flitted across the room, gasps and “what?”s filling the silence. Migs continued. “He has partnered with the New Republic to create a charter for a new Mandalorian government, and there is a plan in place for military action to retake the planet. Our message for you is a plea for help. It is highly unlikely that the Republic will offer enough troops to make a legitimate move over the Imperial occupation. After the Empire is purged from the planet, the Mand’alor has welcomed all who wish to return to the planet.” Migs inhaled deeply, nearly panting for breath.

The elders stared at him. “Who is the Mand’alor?” the second armored Mandalorian said. Migs swallowed. This guy was massive, with deep blue armor. (Was ‘Mountain’ a good nickname?)

Another unarmored Mandalorian shot Mountain a withering look and scoffed. “I swear to the Maker, if the next words that come out of your mouth are Bo-Katan Kryze, I will murder you here and now.” The remaining three unarmored Mandalorians rolled their eyes but nodded in agreement. _I thought pacifists generally... didn't murder people?_ Migs thought.

Migs squeaked. “Um… no? It’s not Bo-Katan.”

“Well, good, because there is no way you’re getting any support from us pacifists if the Kryze House has anything to do with us,” the same man spoke up. Migs decided to call him Grump.

“Well, alliance is inevitable,” Cara protested. “You don’t even have to agree with each other, we-”

“We?” Grump stood up and got all up in Cara’s face. “You aren’t Mandalorian, are you? Who are you to consider yourself one of us?”

Migs winced. This was not going the way he had anticipated. “All she was trying to say is that we _know_ the new Mand’alor, we’re friends of his. We’re just trying to help.”

“Who is the Mand’alor?” Grump pressed, enunciating each word with a step forward before the woman in the gold armor grabbed his arm. (Goldie? Horny? _Absolutely not_. Goldie worked.)

“ _Enough_ , Zeers,” she chastised him, then turned back to Migs and Cara. “Tell them.”

“Din Djarin,” Cara hurried out.

There was a lengthy pause. Mountain and Goldie yelped “What?!” at the same time Grump, Ancient One, and the other two said “Who?”.

“Oh, boy,” Migs said, rubbing his forehead. "Please, allow me to explain. It's a long story, though, so buckle up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in stats class right now and should be paying attention since we have a test next class but whatever.
> 
> Drop the comment. Do it. Tell me how much you love me. It makes me happy. *grabby gremlin noises*
> 
> And before you tell me "Oh, Teresa, why does Migs keep giving the Armorer and Paz stupid nicknames?" Bruh hush. We'll get there. But not next chapter. Next chapter is for Boba and Fennec and good vibes.


	12. The Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba and Fennec escape the grips of the Empire (again), meet up with new friends, and have a little accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, my motivation is going down the drain. I finished watching Attack on Titan, and I started yet another WIP, but i can't actually start it for a few more months because not only is the anime not done, but the manga has like two chapters left, but I don't want to spoil it for myself, but I'm really bad about spoiling stuff for myself. Like, really bad. Anybody else feel this? I just want to know what happens so bad that I can't let myself find out about after everybody else, so I end up spoiling it. UGHGHGHG. 
> 
> Anyways, have a chapter. Also, I didn't really edit this chapter, so if you see any errors, let me know. I was being lazy and just wanted to be done and didn't have the patience or willpower to read over my own work.
> 
> ALSO... Happy two month anniversary! Technically, it's tomorrow, but i probably won't remember tomorrow, so cheers! *sips coffee that's currently in front of me because I'm still a minor and sighs because only three more months until adulthood*

“I hate you.”

Fennec sighed. “You say that now. Wait ‘til I get you out, then you can make your judgement call.”

Boba raised an eyebrow, making his scars stretch horrendously. “I’ve brewed for a week. I think the length of time it takes me to make a judgement isn’t considered fallible once I’ve had a week to think it over.”

Fennec winced, and Boba instantly regretted his harsh words. She leaned in while still trying to look discreet. “Listen, I’m really sorry,” she whispered. “I’m doing my best, okay? I’ve almost got it figured out.”

Boba’s gaze softened, even if his face didn’t. “Better get on with it, then,” he grumbled.

Fennec backed away again, offering him the smallest smile she could sacrifice while still keeping her composure. She turned, her normal long braid tied up in a bun to fit in with standard Imperial uniform.

Boba snorted to himself, then turned back to the cell. Well, it was more like a pen, really. A large circular room, fortified, no doors except the one that only locked from the outside. The window Fennec had just deserted was the only one, obscured by sleekly designed supports. Concordia, while a hellhole if you’re a prisoner, was actually very well designed. Bunks lined the walls, some toilets obscured behind a privacy wall.

Boba found a nice little corner and slid down the wall. The other prisoners chatted as if they weren’t in jeopardy, relaxed and smiling. Some of them were idiots, no matter if they all had the same brain. _These men are perfectly at ease with being clones,_ the little voice in his head nagged. Boba growled to himself and shook it off. He didn’t need to be thinking about that now.

The dozen other clones in the pen all had his face, sure, but they were all unique in some form. Some had tattoos, others had cybernetics. All veterans of the Clone Wars. Obviously, seeing as the clones were made for the very purpose of fighting in said wars. _Typical_. Of course, as soon as the wars were over, the clones were chucked in the trash. Honestly, Boba was surprised there were this many left alive. He hadn’t spoken on any of these clones yet, and he had very little intention to.

“Doors opening! Stand back!” an officer yelled through the door. Silence fell in the pen. The clones and Boba all looked over. Two more clones filed in, pushed in by a trooper. The door closed, and the two clones stepped forward.

They were old, both had white hair. That wasn’t surprising, given clones had double aging and now had the appearance of elderly men. They were hunched and were even allowed canes to stand.

The other clones smiled welcomingly and waved over the two new clones, who hobbled over and sat gratefully. The pen was small enough so that Boba could hear their conversation.

“You’re fresh,” one of the newcomers said. “What’s your hatch date?”

One of the clones from earlier grinned. “21 BBY. Not that fresh.”

The newcomer sniggered. “Fresher than me is fresh.” He turned and looked at Boba, still in the corner, looking pointedly away. He lowered his voice. “Not as fresh as that one over there, though. That’s a, what? 10 BBY hatch date?”

“Yeah, we don’t know who he is,” the younger clone said. “CT-8735. You can call me Macky.”

The newcomers introduced themselves. “CT-7567. Call me Rex.” “CC-3636. Wolffe.”

“You were a commander in the Clone Wars then?” Macky whistled. “We went straight to the Empire, but we deserted.”

“All of us did,” one of the clones from earlier spoke up. “That’s why we’re here. They can’t control us anymore, so they lock us up. Most of us have been here for months. I’m CT-6193. Call me Inches.”

Inches and Macky explained the whole setup: The Empire was now mostly holed up on Mandalore because they had been driven out of everywhere else. Because the Republic thought the entire planet was in ruins, the Empire was safe in Sundari’s protected bubble, from where they most of their operations. Most of the higher-ups never left the confines of Sundari and left the heavy lifting to the troopers and lower officers. The clones were there because multiple scientists were still trying to figure out how to replicate the inhibitor chips implanted in the clones on Camino but had been relatively unsuccessful, because the Caminoan cloners had destroyed all information on how to do it when the Empire fell. Now the clones, or at least the ones the Empire could find that had gotten rid of their chips, were awaiting enslavement again on Mandaolre’s moon, Concordia.

“Huh,” Wolffe mused. “So, none of you fought in the Clone Wars?”

Most of the younger clones shook their heads. “Only Empire for us,” one said. Bing, if Boba remembered correctly.

Bing, Inches, and Macky all leaned in. “Who were your Jedi generals?”

“Plo Koon,” Wolffe replied briskly.

“I was under General Skywalker and Commander Tano,” Rex said proudly. Boba let out a miniscule noise of disbelief. _Skywalker_.

Rex heard it. “And who are you?” Boba ignored him. Rex stood and hobbled his way over, poorly disguised anger clouding his features. “You have no right to disrespect my general. Allow me to ask you again. Who are you?”

Boba glared up at him, thinking fast. Could he trust these clones? Would telling the truth be worth it? What would they think of him? Boba didn’t consider himself a clone trooper at the very least, even if he knew he was a clone? But what was the worst that could happen?

“I’m…” The words wouldn’t come out. Why did telling the truth have to be so hard? Boba was a clone, yes, but he was _more_ , wasn’t he? More than these clones, but Boba couldn’t tell them that.

“What’s your hatch date?” Rex pressed, his voice softening, seeing Boba’s poorly concealed internal struggle.

“32 BBY,” he said, without even thinking.

“That’s not possible,” Rex frowned. “You look half my age…” His eyes widened as he said those words. “You’re a clone, but you don’t have double aging?”

Well, the truth was coming out now, Boba thought. Whether he liked it or not. Screw it, he thought. Boba stood up. “You should sit down,” he growled, leading Rex back to the bench he had deserted. All the other clones were looking at him now, staring in what Boba really hoped wasn’t awe. There was nothing about him to be in awe of.

“Explain,” Wolffe said.

Boba threw the commander a withering glare. “I am Boba Fett, son of Jango Fett.”

An uproar of confusion promptly followed. “I thought Jango Fett didn’t have any children. The Caminoans told him not to,” Inches protested.

“Yeah, and you look like all of us! You’re a clone too!” Macky and Bing objected.

Rex and Wolffe observed Boba, who continued as if nothing had happened. “My father asked the Caminoans to give him an unaltered clone to raise as his own child. Me.”

“So, what, you think you’re better than us?” another clone growled. Yups, or something. Yups was the most muscled out of all of them and had lots of strange tattoos on his cheekbones. He stood up and Boba, being Boba, couldn’t back down from a good fight.

“I wasn’t going to say that; I was going to say I’m different than you,” Boba growled right back. “But I won’t complain if you think I _am_ better than you.” In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have said that. Yups, apparently insulted, reeled back his fist in what would have probably been a hard punch if it had hit anything.

“You’re an asshole!” Yups screeched and charged again. Yups, however much younger than Boba in human years, was still biologically older, slower, and softer. Boba kicked and punched the trooper with (frightening) eagerness. It had been too long since he’d landed a nice punch, and oh, there it landed, right in Yups’ stomach.

Rex and Wolffe were trying to maintain peace, which was hard, given they both needed canes to walk and the best they could do was try and whack whatever part of the fighters they could, which wasn’t much. 

The few officers that had witnessed the fight rushed into the pen. One grabbed Boba around the neck and pulled hard enough he had to gasp for air. Flat on his back, his eyes landed on Fennec’s familiar face, which was clearly and without words chastising him. ‘Seriously?’ her eyes were saying. ‘Keep it in for a few more days, buddy, and you’ll have more than enough stormtroopers to whack up.’

“Break it up,” the (not fake) officer ordered. “Don’t make me say it again, or it’s solitary for all of you.” He turned and Fennec followed after slipping something into Boba’s hand. He waited for the officer to leave before standing up again and reading the note.

_I found some other prisoners waiting to fight their way out. Condordia doesn’t have the same security as Mandalore, so we should be able to bust out pretty easy. Be ready to run when I figure out the controls. I’ll send someone to open the doors._

He read and reread the note. That was fast, he thought. On his fourth reread, Bing shot up and grabbed the note out of his hand, reading it aloud. “That’s from an _officer_?” he shot.

“Okay, what?” Rex wheeled in his seat as his frail body would allow and shot an interrogative glare at Boba. “I’m pretty sure there’s more to this story.”

Boba bit back a groan. Why this had to happen to him, he would never know, but he did his best anyway. “I’ve been enlisted to reinstate a Mandalorian government on the planet by the new Mand’alor, but it’s slow work when we know very little about the Imperial occupation. I was told to come here with my…” Maker, what even _was_ Fennec to him? “…partner two months ago to gather more intel. We managed to get in far enough to the surrounding sector, so we arrived on Mandalore a month ago, got information, all that stuff. About a week ago, they figured out I’m a clone, and put me here.” He gestured to the note. “That’s from her. She’s got a plan to get me out.”

“Us, you mean,” Macky corrected. “The note says she found other prisoners to help. We’re prisoners, therefore we’re helping.”

“This is a terrible plan,” Wolffe said, eyebrows raised. “She’s going to get us all killed. She’s probably severely underestimating the security here.” Wolffe decended into muttering, snatches of meaningless words bouncing off Boba’s brain.

“It’s the only plan we’ve got,” Rex laid a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?” He turned back to Boba. “You say you want to retake Mandalore? Where can we sign up for that? I did it the first time, I can do it again.”

Boba snorted. “Aren’t you a bit old?”

“A bit?” Rex chuckled. “It’s more than a bit. But I can still fire a blaster.”

“Well, don’t let it tear your arms off,” Boba muttered.

They waited for a few hours, conversing. Boba explained a bit more about Fennec, the Mandalorians, and the Imperial threat. Rex and Wolffe explained their own stories, the Clone Wars, and what happened afterwards, and how they had ended up on Concordia.

Yups, recovered from his and Boba’s brawl, was just asking Rex about his part in the Battle of Endor when the doors opened. A weird looking insect-reptile hybrid raced in. “Uh… I was told by some scary lady to come here and tell you to… uh… move your asses.”

“That’s our cue,” Wolffe winced. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Oh, have some heart,” Rex reassured him.

The clones moved to follow the other prisoner at once. Outside in the hallway, it was absolute chaos. Prisoners were chasing officers, officers were chasing prisoners, droids were wheeling around letting out squeals of whatever emotions droids felt.

Boba looked this way and that, desperately trying to find Fennec. Finally, he spotted her, sprinting towards him.

“How are we getting out of here?” he asked as soon as she was in earshot. The _Slave_ wasn’t anywhere near them, some large distance away from the base they were currently on, and had his armor in it (they had decided it was a good idea to abandon it and not let the Empire know that Mandalorians were trying to make a comeback).

“Why are you carrying around guys older than time itself?” Fennec snorted, looking at the pack of elderly clones.  
“Don’t ask,” Boba growled. “I think we need to get them out, unless you really care about any of the other prisoners.”

She waved them along down the hall, pulling out a blaster and shooting officers and troopers as they approached. Handing Boba a pistol as well, they raced up to the upper levels, leaving the other prisoners, clones in tow.

“We’re leaving them behind?” Macky protested.

“What, you want a bigger target on your back? Sure, just drag all the prisoners to the terminals and get us all killed,” Fennec snapped.

“She’s right,” Wolffe panted, hobbling along in his old age. “We can’t risk it. They’ll get out on their own.”

Fennec led them through an absurd number of hallways, where the blaring of alarms seemed to grow both louder and softer, depending on where they were. Finally, they reached the terminals. A dozen or so large land speeders gleamed in the sunlight from the large open gates.

“You take a different one,” Wolffe gestured with his cane to the dozen clones from earlier. “Rex and I will go with these two. Get out of this sector and don’t come looking for us!”

Macky, Yups, Bing, Inches, and the other eight or so stared at them. Then, to Boba’s astonishment, they saluted.

“Thank you very much, commander!” Macky yelled behind him as he clambered up into the elevated driver’s seat of the next nearest landspeeder. As Boba and Fennec helped Rex and Wolffe into the other landspeeder, Macky gunned it and sped out the gate, at the exact same time the closed door into the terminal burst open and two dozen stormtroopers barreled in.

Boba managed to push Rex in and close the side door while Fennec rushed to the driver side as one of the troopers sprinted forward and tried to wrestle Boba to the ground.

Boba snarled and flipped the trooper over his back, hearing a rib crack loudly. He scrambled up into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “Drive,” he ordered, and Fennec slammed on the gas.

Turning out from the gates, Fennec turned in the opposite direction the other clones went, generally the same direction they knew the _Slave_ to be. “Huh,” Fennec said, looking around the interior of the landspeeder as she sped away from the prison base.

“What,” Boba grunted as his heart rate slowed steadily.

“This speeder is really fortified,” she commented. “And there are windows. Why would they waste money and time on creating windows?”

“Does it matter?” Boba snapped.

“Everything matters,” Wolffe retorted from the backseat. “We know very little about our environment.”

“They’re just windows,” Rex protested.

“And it’s just a landspeeder,” Wolffe argued. “With very fortified windows. Look, there’s _airlocks_. Why would the Empire give a damn about windows on landspeeders meant for footsoldiers?”

“Visibility?” Rex shrugged, probably knowing his argument was going down the drain. “I don’t know, maybe they do chemical weapons testing?”

“On what, their own speeders? The Republic doesn’t use heavy chemical warfare anymore.”  
Boba ignored Rex and Wolffe’s argument. What could they possibly need protecting from on the surface of the planet? The outside was completely decimated, but that didn’t mean that there was any direct danger from going out on it, right? Even if he hadn’t actually ever stepped foot on the actual surface of either Mandalore or Concordia… He shook off the worry before it could infect his brain.

The speeder’s whirring droned in his ears as Boba finally let himself relax. The last week had been hectic to say the least. After two months, Fennec and Boba hadn’t made much progress in actually finding Mandalorians, but they had made leeway in discovering the actual situation on Mandalore. It was shit, to be honest, with the dregs of the Empire parasitically feeding off the weakest in the galaxy. But wait, he had told himself. The Empire would get what was coming to them.

Looming in the horizon was another Empire base. It was tiny and looked more like a radio shack than the prison they had just left and was covered by the same kind of dome that covered the prison, and a miniature version of the one that covered the capitol city of Sundari on the planet that was visible in the sky.

“We’re close,” Fennec said. “They can’t possibly know we’re in here, too.” Sure enough, the _Slave_ should have been visible with about ten more minutes of driving.

Boba grunted. He should have known better, in hindsight. For the last two months, every time they became confident, something went wrong.

“Oh, no,” Rex groaned from the back at the same moment Boba realized what was going on.

The Empire must have realized where they were. Emerging from the tiny dome covering the tiny radio shack was about a hundred troops, all coming out with weapons and training them on the approaching landspeeder.

“Well, shit,” Fennec grumbled. “Any ideas?”

“There’s big guns on the _Slave_ ,” Boba suggested, knowing it was hopeless. How would they be able to get to the ship, which was a ten-minute drive away, without having to run straight into the oncoming hoard of stormtroopers.

“It’s our best shot,” Wolffe said from the back. “We’ll get out, you take the speeder to the ship and meet us back here after blowing them to bits.”

“No, you take the speeder, it has weapons, too. I’ll make a break for it, try and find a speeder bike if I can,” Boba said.

Fennec shrugged as she twitched the wheel, guiding the speeder to make a beeline for the largest clump of stormtroopers. As a barrage of rifle fire battered the landspeeder, stopping when the nose was just touching the outside of the dome.

Boba pushed the door open, slamming it into several troopers who were in the way. An alarm blared, not from inside the dome, but from the speeder. “What the-” Fennec started, but Boba was already closing the door and sprinting away.

As he ran, he couldn’t help but to spare the domed shack behind him fleeting looks. Something didn’t feel right here. Those troopers had had different helmets, closed ones that didn’t look like they came off easily. Logistically speaking, they didn’t look like they would have any use unless they were engaging in chemical warfare, because Boba could only think they looked like gas masks.

His pulse was much too high, and he was much too old and scarred to be running long distances. Doing some quick math in his head, he figured it would take him about an hour and then some to get to the ship. Better start walking then, he thought, trying not to think about the chaos he just left Fennec in.

But as he kept walking, the world got darker and darker, and his pulse was rising and rising, and he was getting fainter and fainter… then it all went dark.

* * *

Fennec twisted her fingers in her lap as she waited inside the little dome. It had been three hours, he should be back by now, right?

“I should go look for him,” she spoke up at last.  
“No,” Wolffe shot back. “Have patience. Maybe it was just further than he thought.”

“What if he got hit?” Fennec bit her lip, brushing her hands up and down the uncomfortable officer uniform she had been wearing for the last few days. She missed her own clothes.

The sun was now being obscured by Mandalore now, and the part of Concordia they were now on was obscured in shadow. “Is it even worth waiting?” she muttered.

A bang erupted somewhere on the opposite side of the dome. Fennec readied the rifle she had ripped from a trooper’s hands and trained it on the figure moving in the shadows. “Who’s there?” she barked.

“Shove it, Imp!” someone replied, a female, her voice muffled in a familiar way, voice quaking.

“Not an Imp,” Fennec replied. “Come out, so we can talk.”

“Sure,” the voice drawled.

Fennec rolled her eyes. This kid was terrified but was pretty good at faking confidence. “Jeez, how old are you, kid?” Fennec snorted.

“What’s that matter?” the voice called back, still obscured.

“Not too fond on shooting a kid,” Fennec said. “Are you Mandalorian?”

The kid paused, clearly startled. “…how did you know?”

“Your voice is muffled by a helmet. And no stormtrooper would call me an Imp. So, Mandalorian. Come out, I’m on your side.”

The kid finally came out. Her armor royal blue marked with shining streaks of bronze, and she was _so small_. Even obscured by armor and a black flightsuit, this girl had absolutely no muscle, and was made up of skin and bone. Her rifle, which was now pointing at the floor, was comically big compared to the girl.

“What’s your name?” Fennec asked, letting her voice soften a bit.

“Bris,” the girl replied. “And I’m older than I look,” she grumbled, clearly having seen Fennec’s look of disbelief.

An idea shot through Fennec’s brain. “Okay, Bris, I need your help. My friend is gone, and I need some help finding him.”

Bris’ head tilted. “Gone?”

“Somewhere outside.”

Bris’ body twitched. “Outside?” The quake in her voice was back. “For how long?”

“A few hours, why? Is there some kind of freaky monster that only comes out in the darkness?” Fennec snorted. Boba had seen worse than that.

Bris shook her head. “A… a few hours?” Her voice was faint. “I don’t think you’ll find him.”

Fennec’s brain function puttered out. “W-what?”

“Don’t you know?” Bris trembled. She sounded like she was about to cry. “The atmosphere on Concordia and Mandalore are both toxic. If he’s spent more than three hours outside, unprotected… I’m so sorry, I think… I-I think…” Bris dissolved into tears.

“No!” Fennec jumped back, both from her own emotion and repulsion at Bris’ (she’d never been good with kids anyways). “No, he’s not. NO. I need a bike, do you have a bike?”

Bris sniffled, her hands bumping her helmet as she made to wipe her nose. “N-no, I have a ship just outside.”

Wolffe’s protests of ‘how did we not realize she was here?’ was drowned out by the rushing in Fennec’s ears as she grabbed Bris and pulled her away to the back, Rex and Wolffe limping behind them.

Bris, thankfully, kept up, flipping controls and whatnot as soon as they reached her ship. “J-just tell m-me where,” she trembled.

With Bris’ ship’s lights, they scanned the ground all the way on the path to the _Slave_. Spotting a tiny speck on the ground, Fennec nearly screamed in Bris’ ear, who had valiantly held back another torrent of tears.

“Open the door!” Fennec barked.

Bris held back. “You’ll get sick…” she whispered. “You could die.”

“I already owe him my life,” Fennec said, her voice as hard as stone. “Open the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH. I BET I SURPRISED YOU. YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING REX, WERE YOU? HAH. Yeah, i'm not totally happy with how this one turned out, but eeeeh at least i got it done. 
> 
> Also, I'm getting a more consistent schedule next week. Here's the dealio: swim season ended like two weeks ago and the reason updates have been spaced out more is because i have more time to work on it, so obviously I didn't work on this. Oop. But now i have less time to work on this, so hopefully I'll actually work on it now. That's logical, right? Riiiiiiight.


	13. The Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew does a check-in, Din gets an exposition dump, and then has the worst trip of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo there to all my lovelies. Sorry for the week-long wait. BUT, if you, too, are currently obsessed with Eruri, allow me to give you my excuse: I've been reading He Chose Titans, and it's amazing, but I obviously didn't get a much time to write in the meantime. Please forgive me *begs down on my knees*. 
> 
> Also I just realized I'm such an idiot: I misspelled the title of chapter 7 to say 'controntation' instead of 'confrontation'. *face palm* It's fixed now, though.
> 
> Because all the characters are so spread out now, I thought I'd do a status check for all the peeps:
> 
> Din: on Chandrila, pissy about political obligations  
> Leia: also on Chandrila, trying to help Din feel less pissy  
> Korkie: ALSO on Chandrila, trying to make sure Din doesn't do anything stupid while he's pissy  
> Cara: on Coruscant, dealing with cranky old pacifists  
> Migs: also on Coruscant, trying to avoid said cranky old pacifists  
> Boba: on Concord Dawn, trying not to die  
> Fennec: on Concord Dawn, making sure the world doesn't fall apart if Boba dies  
> Sabine: somewhere in the big galaxy, looking for Ahsoka  
> Han: someone in the big galaxy, along for the ride  
> Ahsoka: unknown  
> Bo-Katan: unknown

Din sighed loudly as he stepped into his condo. Exhaustion threatened to topple him then and there, and as he stumbled over to the nearest couch, he dropped his helmet by his side. Groaning, his muscles finally relaxed. Today had been a full day of standing and talking, and standing and explaining and arguing, and Din had never realized how much he really valued his alone time. How badly he would love to bathe, eat, and curl up under his sheets and sleep, but he had more important matters to attend to.

The transmission alert beeped loudly, and Din rolled off the couch, landing flat on his bottom. That was a mistake, as now he had to struggle to his feet. Picking up his helmet and sliding it back over his face, he stood in front of the transmitter and accepted the call.

Three separate holograms popped up in front of him. In two of them, two people stood, and the third, one person.

Solo and Migs drawled out ‘hello’ as Fennec and Cara grinned up at the others. Din’s exhaustion trickled away at the happy sight of his friends… well, almost all of them.

“Did you figure out your mess on Concordia, Fennec?” Sabine asked before Din could.

Last they had heard from Fennec, she was on Concordia and Boba was in an Empire prison, and she was trying to get them out.

Fennec’s hands twisted in her braid. She was back to wearing her regular clothes, not the Imperial officer uniform they had seen her in on the call last week. “Well… was anyone else aware that the atmosphere on both Concordia and Mandalore is toxic?”

Din’s heart sank to somewhere near his toes. He had known, of course, and he had wrongly assumed that everyone else had. Because of the beskar mining on the planet and the respective moon, the air had been so polluted that it turned toxic and nobody could stay out on the surface for more than three hours without getting terribly sick and dying.

Sabine’s hands had jumped to her mouth. “Oh, Fennec,” she started before Fennec interrupted again, her voice stronger than before.

“Hush up and let me finish. We managed to escape that prison, and we found a couple clones and took them with us. Ran into a bunch of stormtroopers, and Boba left on foot to go find the ship.”

“Across the surface,” Din finished.

“Yes,” Fennec said, her voice still strong, but her resolve fading. “We found another Mandalorian, and she helped us find him. He’s in a hospital on Concord Dawn. He’s not dead.”

A wave of relief swept across the three holograms, and Sabine’s face twisted in recognition. “Concord Dawn? The home of the Protectors?”

“The Protectors?” Cara asked.

“They were an elite group of… bodyguards, or something. Some of the best pilots and fighters. They’re gone, now, though. Killed during the Purge. They were some of the first ones targeted,” Sabine explained.

“That’s what I heard, too,” Fennec replied. There’s a small covert here, only about a dozen Mandalorians.”

“We’re not rushed over here,” Din assured her, speaking up at last. “Make sure Boba’s in a good condition before you make any drastic moves.”

“Of course,” Fennec agreed, her form relaxing a bit more.

“Migs and Cara, what about you?” Din turned his gaze to them. “Any progress on Coruscant?”

Migs and Cara’s news of uncovering the largest covert two weeks ago hadn’t come as much as a shock. Din had figured there must have been a bigger one somewhere other than Nevarro ever since he found out he was considered a cultist and, by that sense, a minority. It only logically followed that a cult would not be the biggest hiding place for Mandalorians.

“Not much,” Cara said as her lips twisted. “The belief systems here are so diverse that the elders have a hard time agreeing on anything. Not many of the pacifists are on your side so far, but most of the others are.”

Din paused for a minute. He figured that, if he couldn’t get the entire covert on his side in this case, he might not get the support he needed. Which was surprising, seeing as at least two possibly former Children were inside a diverse covert. Splitting up this group could be detrimental, but the only way to keep them together was to get the pacifists on his side… “I’ll send Korkie to you when he has a few free days,” he finished his musing aloud. “He might be convincing.”

“Good plan,” Cara agreed. “We’ll try and hold down the fort until then.”

They all turned to Solo next, who shrugged while Sabine grimaced. “Same as last week. Nothing. No sign of either Ahsoka or Bo-Katan.”

Din sighed. The disappointing two and half months since they had separated on Chandrila had been absolutely fruitless, then. Sabine had been so sure they would find Ahsoka on Teth. It had been necessary to find Ahsoka, to find Bo-Katan.

“Maybe we have the wrong angle,” Din mumbled. “We need to start smaller. Both of them are good at hiding, it only logically follows it’ll be hard to find them.”

Han threw his hands up in the air. “Well, other than Sabine, we don’t really know of anyone who knows them well enough to know where they are.”

Sabine shifted, her voice quiet. “I haven’t talked to either of them in a while. After Ahsoka and I split to look for Ezra separately, we lost contact.” Her uncovered eyes sought Din’s. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “There’s no use apologizing now. Who else might know?”

Fennec smacked herself in the forehead. “The clones!”

All eyes trained on her again. “Boba and I met a few clones, and one of them said he served under Ahsoka. Do you think a clone named Captain Rex knows where she is?”

Sabine’s face went slack with shock, while others twisted in confusion. Sabine grinned widely, a stark difference between the concern that had haunted it a few minutes ago. “You met Rex?”

Fennec nodded. “I can go get him,” she said, glancing at Din. He nodded, and she disappeared from the hologram. They didn’t have to wait for long before she led in another person.

If Din hadn’t known Boba was a clone (which he hadn’t for a shocking amount of time), he would have thought Rex was his father. They had the same face, even if Rex’s wasn’t as scarred as Boba’s. Rex hobbled into view onto the hologram, and Din was struck by how _old_ the clone looked, knobbed hands clutching the head of a cane. Double aging, he figured. He might actually be the same age as Boba.

Sabine’s face was shining. Rex waved an aged hand at her. “Hey there, Sabine,” he said, voice weak. Boba and Rex even sounded the same, but Din had to guide himself away from making comparisons. He was vaguely aware of Boba’s discomfort with others acknowledging his roots as a clone on Camino, especially given his violent reaction to Bo-Katan and Koska’s disagreeable comments when they had first met.

Fennec introduced everyone to Rex, and vice versa. “There’s Migs Mayfeld, Cara Dune, Han Solo, and you know Sabine, and that there’s the boss.”

Rex grinned up at Din as Fennec gestured to him. “Looks like a boss.”

Din tried not to shift uncomfortably as he felt his face flush, glad it was covered by his helmet. “Anyways,” he tried to guide the topic. “We understand you know Ahsoka Tano.” Rex nodded, and Din continued. “We’re looking for her, to see if she knows where Bo-Katan Kryze is. Any information you can give us is valuable.”

Rex hummed, his flickering, holographic hands tensing on his cane. “I haven’t _seen_ her in a little while, but the last I heard from her about three months ago was on the outskirts of the Core Worlds. She doesn’t ever give explicit info on where she is at the moment, to keep the Empire off her back.”

“What’s she been doing in the Core Worlds?” Sabine frowned. “We practically scoured it while we were still together.”

Rex shrugged. “You know as well as I do.”

“Well, thank you anyways,” Din said. He turned to Sabine and Han. “You’ve got it covered.”

Han nodded. “How’s it going over there?”

If they could see Din’s face, it would have crumbled. For as hard as they had been working to finalize a script for a Mandalorian government, Leia had revealed that she seriously doubted they could scrape up enough votes for the Senate to approve it. “It’s fine,” he lied. Better now that they do the job well instead of worrying about a timeline.

Cara’s eyes narrowed. Din tried not to acknowledge it, as he knew he would only confirm her suspicions about his lie.

“If that’s all, I think we’re done here,” he finished. “We’ll check back next week.”

The holograms flickered out and Din’s shoulders relaxed. Sitting down and removing his helmet again, he tried to process the new information: the pacifist elders on Coruscant were hesitant to join the overall effort, likely due to mortality risks of facing the Empire and potentially sparking another Purge. Albeit, a fair point, if he couldn’t get the pacifist elders on his side, he wouldn’t get the rest of that covert, which included Paz Vizsla and the Armorer. And if he needed anyone, he needed those two. The best bet at the moment would be to send Korkie down to reason with them, one pacifist Mandalorian to a multitude. But how long would that take? Politics were slow, and even though they were close to finalizing the script and sending it to be voted on by the Senate, would it ever be approved if they didn’t have Mandalorians standing behind it, more than just Din and Korkie? And Korkie was already swamped with work, so the only time he would be able to visit Coruscant was after the script was sent to the Senate. Din sighed, running a hand over his face. There weren’t many options. The best they could do is rush Korkie out to Coruscant as soon as the script was finished, and hope Migs and Cara didn’t stir up too much trouble before that happened. Hopefully, they would only have to wait two more weeks.

The thing that was bothering him the most after that was Boba. He cursed his own stupidity for not warning them about the dangers of walking on the surface of Concordia or Mandalore. If Fennec’s words were true, however, he would make a steady recovery. Concord Dawn had good hospitals. As soon as Boba was strong enough to travel, Din wanted them to return to Chandrila with whatever Mandalorians they found. The information Boba and Fennec had obtained about the Imperial occupation on Mandalore was probably the most important thing to come out of all three missions.

As for Han and Sabine, a flare of hope had finally appeared. Rex’s information on Ahsoka’s position might finally bring good news for any potential alliance Din wanted to make with Bo-Katan…

_“Remind me again,” Leia mused as she sipped her drink. “Why do you want to find Bo-Katan so badly? I thought you didn’t think she was trustworthy.”_

_“I don’t,” Din corrected her. “But she’s valuable. Most of the Mandalorians who have been around since before the Purge knew her and trust her. I can’t exactly do this without the same kind of support, and I won’t get it if people think I overthrew her.”_

_“What do you want her to do, though?” Leia asked as she set her drink down, staring Din full in the face now. “If what you’ve told me about her is true, she won’t be happy standing on the sidelines while you take the helm.”_

_“There are other positions of leadership that are open to her that allow me to have some amount of control over her actions,” Din protested._

_“What, like an advisor?” Leia raised an eyebrow as Korkie walked in._

_“No, not quite,” Din said. “The formation of clans and houses that we’ve been looking at from the old days, that’s what we want to set up again. I was thinking of letting her lead a house, like she did last time. It would be an insult if I didn’t let her anyways.”_

_Korkie paused on his way over to their table, apparently having caught a flicker of their conversation. “You want to give her House Kryze again?” he asked, hesitant. “Need I remind you that her idea of a Mandalorian government involves borderline terrorism?”_

_“I’m just thinking about it. Nothing final yet,” Din mumbled, then remembered something, and turned back to Korkie. “That reminds me… When I first met your aunt, she told me she was the last of her line. Are you not actually a Kryze?”_

_Korkie’s face twisted bitterly, then sat down next to Leia. “I served New Mandalore during the Civil Wars. Bo-Katan was not happy about it, as she was a part of the terrorist organization Death Watch that actively opposed the pacifist government her own sister had set up. But when Maul took over Death Watch, Bo-Katan turned and formed the Nite Owls… you knew that. But after that, when she got the darksaber the first time, she tried to reform the same government that had existed before New Mandalore. The one set on galactic conquest, the one Death Watch wanted to set up again. I disagreed with her, and we had many arguments. Eventually, she got so upset with me that she said I couldn’t be a part of her house, a Kryze, and a pacifist at the same time.”_

_“So, she disowned you,” Leia finished. Korkie nodded sadly._

_“Does this mean Duchess Satine didn’t consider herself part of House Kryze?” Din asked._

_Korkie shook his head. “No, the New Mandalore didn’t impose the house structure. They broke down that form of organization because they thought it would only promote inter-house arguments. Same with the clans.”_

_“Do all pacifists still think like that?” Leia asked, brows raising. The same questions arose in Din’s mind: if pacifists were really still against house organization, what would they say now that Din was trying to reform it?_

_Korkie shook his head again. “I actually think it’s a good idea. Keeping families and ideals together is one of the best ways to unify given how spread out we are now. We can’t expect people groups who have been separated for so long to immediately stick back together. If the house system doesn’t work in reality as well as it does on paper, then we’ll reconsider.”_

_Din relaxed a bit. Standing up, he picked up a file from a desk nearby as Leia kept talking to Korkie, a smile on her lips: “So, if Bo-Katan is your aunt, and Satine is her sister, does that mean Satine is your mother?”_

_“Erm…” Korkie stuttered._

Din forcefully pulled himself out of the memory. Regardless of Bo-Katan’s reaction to Din’s efforts, she would still be valuable in swaying the older Mandalorians who had served under her in her time as Mand’alor.

Making his way over to a cabinet (he had been moved to a more private condo after the missions had begun and others had departed, so he had the entire place to himself) where he stored his drinks, deciding he needed something to ease his mind.

His hand drifted to one of his favorites, clearly the one with the least amount of liquid in it. Pouring himself a glass, he raised it to his lips and paused. It smelled strange… Sniffing it closer this time, it definitely smelled a bit sour. That was strange… he had had a glass just yesterday and it had smelled fine. Setting it down and picking up the bottle, he sniffed deeply. It was the same smell. Foreign, sour, and disturbing. It made Din’s stomach coil uncomfortably.

His heart rate rising, he capped the bottle and looked around, looking for any evidence of something else that was wrong. Nothing seemed out of place to his eyes at the moment, but he tried not to get comfortable. Turning back to the cabinet, he pulled down the other half dozen bottles and sniffed them all. Underneath the unique smells of each was the same sour note.

Stripping off his glove, he dipped a finger into the glass he had already poured and tasted it. The smell was the only thing that denoted a potential threat – there was no taste that warned him that something was wrong.

He rushed into his little makeshift office, cluttered with documents, reports, and records. Much more cluttered than he had left it earlier that day when was in there last. Drawers had been pulled open and haphazardly shut, a digitizer slid onto the desk, away from its port. Someone had visited…

At that moment, he regretted tasting the drink. He should have known better, he thought, cursing himself as the world tilted. Groaning, he clutched the side of the desk as his knees gave way. He slid down to his knees, dizziness threatening to make him tip. His head hit the ground as everything went fuzzy.

“ _Dank farrik_ ,” he mumbled as he slipped into unconsciousness.

_The halls around him were made of beautifully carved stone, taller than his head. He took tiny steps forward, staring up at the designs of soldiers. No… these were knights. Holding swords of pure light as they protected those who needed it, struck down those who deserved it._

_“Hey there, kid,” an echoing voice sounded from above him. “You ready to start training today?” Luke Skywalker knelt down and picked him up, walking down the hallway._

_“Din…” a voice came, not from Luke’s mouth._

_He made a noise of protest._

“Din!”

Din sat straight up, nearly smacking heads with Leia. He gasped for air, feeling as though he had never tasted something a sweet as fresh air in his life. Doubling over, he dry-heaved onto the floor.

Leia winced, a hand on his back. “Are you okay?” she whispered as he coughed.

Handing him a glass of water, he gratefully downed it. He nodded wordlessly.

“What happened?” she asked.

Din looked her in the eye. “Someone tried to poison me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet
> 
> does the chapter summary make sense now? HMMMMM?


End file.
